The Rules of Science
by Alana Lee
Summary: Madeline Philips has a lot to learn about her past, present, and future. Maddy makes a friend, is yelled at by Snape (a lot), and gets her first dose of Caecus Potion. Just all in a day's work.
1. Smallest Unit of an Element

"An atom, the smallest unit of an element, is composed primarily of three fundamental particles: electrons, protons, and neutrons. The combination of these particles in an atom is distinct for each element."  
-From Chemistry Concepts and Problems  
~  
  
CHAPTER ONE  
  
I pause and look up at my prison looking school before going in. It was a habit I had developed and indulge in at least once a week. More if the week had been bad. I wonder what it would be like to be in one world instead of stuck between two. Or maybe I'm not really stuck between two worlds. Maybe I'm just misplaced. Maybe I'm jealous because I'm a witch stuck in the Muggle world, attending a Muggle school, cut off from the magical world. I wonder if I would be happier if I had attended a wizard school, instead of being taught magic at night by my mother. Or would I be happier if I had been born a squib? I consider this. Nope. My dad would still be a complete and utter bastard and my mom would probably be more depressed and neurotic if I, her daughter, had turned out to be non- magical. It would have been her fault for marrying a Muggle.  
The bell rings and I drag my feet to English, quite possibly the most useless class in the world. I take a seat in the back near Elaine, a person I hang out often enough with to be considered a friend.  
"You look like hell, Maddy." She announces as I drop my book bag and plop into my seat, stretching my feet across the aisle to rest on the bar of her desk preparing for a nice nap as the rest of the class prepares to plow through objective complements, direct and indirect objects.  
"Said like a true friend." I reply sarcastically. "Insomnia again."  
Insomnia is what I tell my friends when my mother has had me up until odd hours of the night to learn magic.  
"Quiet down everyone." The teacher calls tiredly from the front. I immediately put my head down to rest. My long dark hair falls down around me. I finger it idly. I need to get a trim, these split ends are horrendous. Maybe I should try a shorter cut like Elaine's hair-with colored streaks. Not red though, that's too much for me. Maybe blue, or green?  
"Grammar is so damn easy. I wish she'd hurry up and get on with it." Elaine whispers to me across the aisle. "I hope she finally gets around to passing out The Grapes of Wrath. She said she might today."  
Elaine is all about that kind of stuff. She loves English. Sometimes it amazes me that she dresses the way she does. She stamps her booted foot impatiently on the back of the chair in front of her, earning her a dirty look from its occupant. The teacher continues droning up front. She is oblivious.  
I lay my head down on the desk again. Sleep sleep sleep, I command myself. It doesn't work. I give up. I lift my head up, straighten up in my desk, and reach into my bag to grab pen and paper. Am I finally going to pay attention to what the teacher is saying? Am I finally going to write down notes? Not hardly. My mother gave me a paper to write on the hardships of the merpeople; I might as well get started. The paper keeps me occupied through the rest of English as well as Honors Spanish.  
I make it to chemistry intact and brain-fagged. I breathe in deeply the smell of the lab. I love the smell of chemicals. It reminds me of making potions, my favorite thing to learn. It's my mother's favorite thing to teach, so maybe that is why I like it so much. Maybe it's because making potions is the closest thing to normal in my Muggle life.  
Sometimes I wonder if wizards would like me at all.  
We are in the lab today, which makes me happy. Today's experiment: mix un-dangerous chemical A with un-dangerous chemical B. It's actually kind of dull compared to potion making, but at least the smell is familiar.  
Lunch is disgusting and crowded. I skip outside to eat my bagel sandwich and drink my over-priced bottled water. I sit quietly in the corner and eat until the bell rings to go to my next class. We work on pottery in ceramics, and I play games on my graphing calculator while the class learns about log rhythms in Intermediate Algebra. I am grateful when it is time to go home. I plan to sneak up to my room and take a nap before my mother nags me about homework  
The bus drops me and several other off about a block from where my flat is. My father makes enough money that we could live somewhere nicer, but I think he doesn't want it known that his wife and daughter are witches. People don't ask about the strange smells and funny noises where we live. The neighbors just think my mom has a few screws loose, which is true; there are just fewer screws loose than they think.  
I bound up the three flights of stairs to our third floor flat, the corner flat. I think I'm the only person who does not use the elevator. But then, I don't want to be seen. I open the door slowly and carefully so I won't be heard. I hear my mother banging pots and pans about in the kitchen while she sings a cantata along with the choir on our stereo. I slip quietly up the stairs to my room. It was actually a studio apartment until my father got them to connect it to our flat and make it into a single room. The linoleum floor and counters of the kitchenette are still in one corner. A cauldron sits where the refrigerator once was, and a small garden of magical plants grow where the stove used to be. My room doubles as a classroom for my mom to teach me magic in. It was actually a pretty nice thing for my father to do. For awhile there, I had actually thought he cared. Then I realized this kept two reminders that there was magic in this world out of his sight: me and my magical paraphernalia. He did, however, get rid of the door to the hall so I cannot come and go without my parents knowing. Most unfortunate.  
I do not turn on the lights, but go to my single window and open the curtains. I prefer natural light to the glaring fake. My father should love me for the money I save him on electricity. I throw down my book bag and kick off my shoes and socks. Time for a much needed nap. I jump onto my bed, pull a sheet over myself, and am asleep in minutes.  
I wake up to a shadowy room and a grumbling stomach. I must have slept longer than I intended. I bend over the edge of the bed to examine the clock that sits on the floor of my room. Nearly seven thirty. Dinner's probably over. Bet my dad's pissed I wasn't there. I wonder if he'll nearly choke me again like he did last time. I hope not. It does not surprise me that my mother did not wake me up-she understands why I am so tired. She also knows I'll find my way to kitchen when my stomach wakes me up.  
I crawl out of bed, untangling the sheet from around me as I go. I put on my shoes and socks again before heading downstairs; my dad has a thing about coming to the dinner table "properly dressed." I hope we had salmon. We eat fish a lot at my house because my dad loves it. It's one of the few things we have in common.  
I walk down the stairs. The house is oddly quiet. I can't even hear my mother banging about the kitchen trying to clean up.  
"Mom?"  
No answer. Maybe she stepped out.  
"Dad?"  
I reach the bottom of the stairs and turn right to look into the living room. I can see my dad's shadow, cast long by the light of a lamp. I walk towards the doorway. Why in the world would he be standing up? He always reads the paper after dinner. Or plays a game of solitaire. And why is he so still? He always has a nervous twitch of some sort.  
I stand in the doorway and see why my father is standing perfectly still. On the floor lays my mother, sprawled out, eyes blank, open in surprise, lifeless on the floor. I can only gape at the floor.  
My father notices my presence and turns to look at me. I can tell immediately he is livid. In his right had he holds crumpled piece of parchment. He thrusts it towards my face and I step back automatically.  
"What is this? What happened? You-you people-what did you people do to her?! Your kind did this to her! You filthy-! You little-!" He gets closer to me with every half uttered phrase, crumpling the ball of parchment tighter and tighter. I stand ground until he is nearly on me, but when he raises his left fist I bolt for the door. My father comes after me with a roar. Unfortunately for me, my father is an athletic man and is right behind me. He cuts in front of my escape route, the front door, and forces me slowly, step by step into the kitchen, directly across from the small entryway.  
I start to babble. "Let me see the owl post! Maybe I could read it and see why-Maybe there's something we could do!" I know this is a lie. There is no path away from death. I change tactics. "It's not my fault and you bloody well know it! Why don't you just calm down and we'll call the police-or-Just let me see the letter and we'll straighten it all out-!"  
It's no use. He corners me in the kitchen between the fridge and the wall.  
"You'll pay!" He yells. "You'll all bloody well pay, dammit!"  
As he raises his fist, I happen to glance over his shoulder. Two figures have just appeared in my entry hall. I cannot tell if they used a door or not. They look in our direction, where all the ruckus is coming from, and see me cowering in the corner of the kitchen. My father either does not noticed my eyes bulge in surprise, or he takes it for utter terror. His fist comes down heavily against my temple, and my head snaps back and hits the wall hard. My vision goes white, and then everything goes completely dark.  
  
I am laying flat on my back. I am laying on something soft. I am laying on something cool and probably cotton. I hear voices-masculine-a few feet from my head. I focus in on what they are saying. The first voice is wheezy, and rather comfortable sounding, like an old chair that fits your body perfectly.  
".is tragic, but perhaps it will be the best thing for her. Perhaps it will help her to focus. Perhaps it will be less of a culture shock if she can't-"  
This man is cut off suddenly. Then another voice, very unlike the first-smooth, proper, and precise-says quietly, "She is awake."  
He's talking about me. I quickly focus all my attention on looking asleep. I hear quiet footsteps towards me, on what sounds like a wood floor, and I feel someone bending over me from way up high. "You may quit pretending," the second voice says, somewhat snappily, "I know quite well that you are conscious."  
I frown a little, giving away any bit of pretense I had before.  
"Open your eyes." The voice commands.  
I open them grudgingly, partially curious as to what these two men look like, and if they are potentially dangerous.  
I see blackness.  
I rub my eyes vigorously with my fists, squeeze my eyes tight, and open them again.  
Blackness.  
I sit up in what I assume is a bed, and rub my massage my eyes roughly with the palms of my hands. I blink several times very slowly.  
Still a black nothing.  
Panic seizes me. "I'm blind!" I yell. "I'm freaking blind! What the bloody hell did you do to me?" I look hopefully menacing in what is hopefully their direction. "What did you do? Where am I? What the hell just happened? I can't see a damn thing!"  
"We know." The voice speaks again, loudly, over my ranting.  
This shuts me up very effectively.  
"We know." The voice repeats going on quietly. "So if you will just calm yourself, we will explain everything in due time. Headmaster?"  
"But you're doing a fine job, Severus."  
"Headmaster?" I ask, cocking my head to one side. "Headmaster.?"  
"Forgive us for not introducing ourselves." The kind voice says. Two warm, thin, dry hands take one of mine in firm handshake. "I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts."  
"Dumbledore." I say weakly, realizing I had yelled at him.  
"And this," there is a pause, and then I feel a cool hand with long fingers touch mine briefly, "Is Professor Snape. He is the Potions master at Hogwarts."  
I nod my head, still unsure if to believe any of it. "And I'm Madeline Philips, just in case you didn't already know that." I pause for a moment. "So exactly what just happened here?"  
"I think, perhaps, Professor, I will leave much of the explaining up to you."  
I sit up straighter in the bed, and lean forward to ensure I don't miss a word.  
"Ah." Says, what I will soon be calling, the unmistakable voice of Professor Snape. "Your.father," this word is said with great distaste, "hit you in the temple-"  
"I remember that much," I say impatiently, interrupting.  
"Hit you in the temple," Professor Snape continues pointedly with barely a pause, "which in turn caused your head to hit the wall at such an angle as to damage your sight." Understate-ment, I think. "We will be taking you to an expert at Saint Mungo's to determine if the loss is indeed temporary."  
I think on this a moment. I do not feel as panicky as I thought I would discovering I'm blind. That will come later, I suppose. My greatest fear is that I have little choice but to put my trust in these people who claim to be wizards-one the great Albus Dumbledore nonetheless-until I have my vision back. If I get it back. I shiver at the thought of a life in darkness.  
My mother.  
"What happened to my mother?" I ask quietly.  
The so-called Dumbledore answers my question. "I believe that your mother died from shock. I understand her heart was not in the best condition. The letter she received contained information that the Dark Lord has risen again."  
I had a feeling that both were watching me very closely to see what my reaction would be to this news.  
"Ah." I said vaguely. I heard of the feared Dark Lord, He-Who-Must- Not-Be-Named. My mother had talked of it little; I occasionally heard bits a pieces about him from other witches and wizards on rare trips to Diagon Alley. The name did not particularly strike terror in my heart.  
The Snape characters speaks again. "Your mother did not speak of the Dark Lord much, did she?"  
I shake my head. "Sounded like hard times though, from what I know." Silence for a few beats. "Wait, did you say he was back?"  
"Yes."  
I frown a little. I don't know what to say to this. It is obviously not a good thing. Wasn't You-Know-Who supposed to be afraid of Dumbledore anyway? I had heard something to that effect once. I wonder why the shock killed my mother. How did Dumbledore know she had a weak heart? It makes no sense. Why would anyone tell my mother the Dark Lord has risen again anyway? Who was the letter from to begin with?  
"Who sent the letter?"  
"We are not sure. Who ever wrote it took care to make sure one could not tell." A pause. "They may have written it with the intention of shocking your mother. They may have known she had a heart condition."  
I glance up sharply in what I suppose is Professor Snape's direction. "How did you know that?"  
"I used to know your mother." His tone does not invite questioning.  
Dumbledore intercedes at this point. "Miss Philips, we came, or Professor Snape did, to escort you to Hogwarts. We have more matters to discuss there which would not be safe to discuss here. Your father did not object to this. Though after his latest display, I do not think it would have been advisable to leave him with you even if he had objected. I have other business to attend to, and therefore must be on my way. Professor Snape will be escorting you to St. Mungo's and then to Hogwarts. He can answer any questions you have about the school. It was a pleasure meeting you Madeline Philips." He takes my hand in both of his again. "I will see you again when the new school term starts. Good day."  
I open my mouth to protest-what I'm not sure-but I am too late, and hear the faint pop of apparation.. I close my mouth with a small click of teeth. I turn my head to look at Professor Snape for what to do next and realize I do not know where he is standing. This is getting incredibly frustrating.  
"Come along. We had better get going. We will have to use Muggle transportation, and Merlin knows how long that will take." His tone is that one of doing an unpleasant job. I resent that.  
I move cautiously towards the edge of the bed and slide my feet slowly over the edge until they touch the floor. I stand on my feet carefully, as though unsure they will work.  
"Hurry up, girl."  
I am thoroughly disgruntled now. "Have you ever been blind?" I snap. "It's not as easy as it looks."  
He steps towards me and takes my arm, setting it on his. "Come along, then." He says darkly.  
I stumble along beside his long strides, not because my legs are short, but because it's terrifying walking and not seeing where you are going. "Take it easy, will you?" I say crossly.  
"Step." He replies.  
"What?"  
My brain catches up as Snape takes a step downward, forcing me to follow, and I rock a little before catching my balance on the step. "Step."  
This time I step down with him, and we continue this way down the stairs until he tells me that was the last step. I never thought walking down the stairs was so difficult. Of course, these are unfamiliar stairs. I'm sure I could walk up my own stairs at home with my eyes closed. I think I could. I don't want to think about home.  
Thankful to be on even footing, I try my best to concentrate on keeping up with Snape. "Door." He says. I let him move ahead of me, hand still gripping his arm, and follow right behind him, jarring my shoulder against the door frame. "Ow!" I would rub my shoulder, but that would mean letting go of Snape, which is the last thing I want to do. I imagine he would be very cross about it if I did, anyway.  
We are on the sidewalk now. The noise of the street and the fact that I run in to people every few minutes give it away. If it hadn't, I would have been able to tell by how the ground felt through my sneakers. I file it away in my brain to remember how concrete feels with your shoes on. Who knew I'd ever find think it was important?  
"We're taking the Underground." My partner says quietly.  
Damn. More steps.  
I try to remember how many turns we have taken since we started this venture: I can't remember. I try to remember how many people I have ran into: too many to count.  
"Step."  
We are at the Underground. We reach the bottom of the stairs safely. I must admit, Professor Snape, if not seeming to be the friendliest of sorts, has a good deal of patience. Unlike the many people who jostled, rather unnecessarily I thought, quickly past us. I don't recall meeting so many inconsiderate people in London before. It took a lot of self control not to kick the man or woman who's briefcase swung into my shins as they passed.  
We walk a few yards and then stop. I imagine we are stopping to examine the Underground map to see which train we should get on and which station we should get off. This could take a long time.  
"Where are we at and where are we going?" I ask. "I can tell you which train and which stop."  
"We're at the West Ham station and need to get up around Gloucester Road."  
I frowned in thought. West Ham to Gloucester. West Ham is in the east..  
"Um. I think we just need to take the District line. I don't think we'll need to change. Check the map, though and make sure."  
I stand patiently while my partner checks the Underground map. I hoped I was right. I felt like he was giving me a test and it was vital I passed it.  
"Hmph. Very well." Was all he said, after a minute or two. I was led off again to get a ticket.  
He bought the ticket with ease. If nothing else, he was very good a pretending to be a competent Muggle. "This yer daughter, sir?" I hear the ticket man ask.  
"No." Professor Snape says shortly, and pulls me away quickly from the ticket booth. I grin cheerily at the ticket man and wave before allowing myself to be pulled away through the ticket barrier. We weave our way through a crush of people, and for once it isn't odd that I continually run into people, because they are running into me as well. We come to a sudden stop, and Snape presses his arm closer to his side, keeping me closer as well. We must be standing near the edge of the platform because I can feel the empty air in front of me. It is amazing how much information can be gathered through your other senses to form a fairly clear picture even without your eyes.  
I hear the rumble of the train coming, and feel it whoosh past me at high speed before screeching to a halt. I feel Snape's arm muscle tighten as the train stops and the doors squeak open. I wonder if he is afraid of riding the Underground.  
He pulls me onto the train, and I step carefully so as not to trip. Snape takes the hand I have on his arm and puts it on a pole. I grip it more firmly than Snape's arm: it is my anchor to the real world, the Muggle world, the world where I live a normal life with a mother and father, one of whom loves me to some degree. Loved me. My throat constricts and I feel my jaw stiffen, fighting for self control. I grip the pole tighter in hopes of getting a grip on my emotions, my long fingers curl around the cold steel and bite into my palm, forcing me back into the very real reality where everything is happening too fast and too confusingly.  
I can feel the heat radiating from Snape's hand above mine on the pole.  
"'Scuse me, sir. Your daughter can take my seat here, if you like."  
"Thank you." Snape says, politely. He does not contradict the man. I am guided to my seat as the train starts to move. Once seated, I am still and perfectly erect. For once, I am a little afraid of sitting alone on the Underground. I cannot see what or whom I am sitting next too, nor anyone else in the car.  
"Have my seat as well, so you can sit beside her." The voice next to me says, getting up.  
"Thank you. Very much."  
I retract my earlier statement about the many inconsiderate people in London. Sixty percent are more inconsiderate, forty percent are more considerate.  
Snape sits down beside me, careful to not touch me. I wonder if he is a hypochondriac. I wonder if he is obsessive compulsive. I wonder if he is married. I wonder what he is thinking. I wonder what he thinks of Muggles. I wonder how the hell he got assigned to baby-sit me. It is very boring sitting on a train if you can't watch people. I count the stops until Gloucester Street. In between numbers I conquer thoughts of my mother by reciting the elements and their common oxidation numbers to myself. Then I recite, in detail, the twelve common uses of dragon blood. Then I go through the seventeen uncommon ones. The Underground feels like a vacuum from reality.  
The train slows down to our final stop. Snape rises beside me and braces himself for the final stopping jolt. He reaches down and takes my arm, pulling me up. I put my hand on his arm, bracing myself for the stop as well. The train halts, the doors squeak open. The cooler, less stale air of the Underground station pours in, and we step over the threshold and back into the real world.  
Through the crush of people, up the evil stairs of doom, back out into fresher air and even more hustle and bustle. We walk for several blocks-we seem to change directions an alarming amount of times. I wonder if Snape is worried someone is after us (they say my mother may have been murdered-but I'm not thinking about that right now), or if we are walking through some of the worst constructed street systems of London.  
My partner slows down and finally stops. There is something large in front of us, and I wonder if we have made it to St. Mungo's already. Wouldn't there be something to block it from prying Muggle eyes? I resist the temptation to reach out and touch whatever is in front of me in hopes of identifying it.  
Snape leans forward slightly beside me. Should I do the same? Before I can make up my mind, he speaks in a low voice. "I have a patient here with me."  
There is a pause, and regardless of the fact that there was no audible answer, we march forward. Instantly, the noise of the street is gone, replaced by the noises and smells of a hospital. Some rather odd sounds, I thought cocking my head to one side, for a hospital. We have obviously come on a very busy day. I wish I could see what the inside a real wizard hospital looks like. I wish I could have seen the outside, for that matter.  
People scarcely acknowledge me as I trip over a few legs to keep up with Snape's strides forward to.somewhere. I guess they have other things on their minds. Or bodies. We pause for a moment, Snape mutters "Artifact accidents, ground floor. I guess that will have to do," before leading me off again.  
The noise dims a little as we walk down a hall. I can at least hear my sneakers striking a hard surface, like tile. We haven't gone far when we stop, and I feel my shirt brush up against something like a counter. "Excuse me." Snape says. We must be at some sort of reception desk. I put my unfettered hand out and touch the top of the counter, laying my palm out flat on it. It is real and solid. I use this as an example to prove to myself that what is happening to me is real and solid as well.  
"Yes? Can I help you?" The voice is young, soft, lilting, and, inexplicably, slightly irritating. It's the kind of voice that would go on determinedly cheerful after you had a leg removed because a building fell on it, destroying all you had, killing your beloved kitten, and addling the brains of your family so they did not recognize you. It was a voice that confused ebullience with sympathy.  
"A wand misfired and knocked Miss Philips here into the wall at such an angle so as to blind her. We need to see an expert so we will know how long this impairment will last, and what we can do in the meantime to ensure to her a relative independence."  
"Oh my," The receptionist says in cheery dismay. "Take a seat, and fill out these forms. I will contact Healer Lucy Raphael; she's the best for this sort of thing. Just fill out those forms and we'll show you to a room."  
Snape helped me to a seat, where I sat down, ramrod straight again. I had never been one for posture, but being blind made me feel as though my body had to touch as much as the seat as possible to assure myself I really was sitting in a chair. I spent the next half hour answering quietly the questions Snape posed on me about my family and medical history out of the corner of his mouth. He finally got up and turned in the forms to the witch up front. I fidgeted while he was away, feeling insecure. I put my hand out to feel the empty chair next to mine. The fabric was smooth and slippery (no wonder I kept wanting to slide out of my seat), and there were no arm rests (my arms were aching for something to rest on).  
The witch's voice floated towards me from the reception desk, "Room 106 in the Gregory Neocaesarea ward. Healer Raphael will be with you shortly."  
I can barely hear the movement of feet towards me, and suddenly Snape is standing over me again. "Come on, now, Miss Philips."  
I stand carefully and put my arm tentatively on his arm again. He sweeps us off in some direction, down a hall I assume, that was even quieter than the previous one. We pause and turn to the left. "Door." He says, and I manage to not bang my shoulder against this one. We sit down, and I take my hand and fold it with my other one in my lap, and imagine myself waiting calm and poised for the Healer to arrive. My back is getting tired of all this good posture.  
Quick, light footsteps from the hallway, a pause, and then a female voice. "Now this is a rather unusual case." A few more steps. "Madeline Philips, I presume?"  
My "yes ma'am" is drowned out by Healer Raphael's exclamation of surprise.  
"Severus Snape? Aren't you still teaching at Hogwarts?"  
"Lucy," my friend replies cordially, (I'm sure he gave a curt nod in her direction). "Yes, I am still the potions master."  
Potions master?! This could be very good, or very bad.  
"Poppy Pomfrey is a more than qualified Healer. Why isn't this student.?"  
"Miss Philips is not yet a student at Hogwarts. She has been taught at home until certain circumstances have removed her from that home. She is in my charge at this time."  
"I see." Although what she saw, I could not be sure; Snape had given a very ambiguous answer. I couldn't see a thing, both literally and figuratively. "Well, then. Let's see how extensive the damage is.."  
She has pulled a chair across from mine and is leaning in rather close. I stay perfectly still and ignore the instinct to pull back a little. I hear something like a wand being waved around my face and feel the slight breeze of it passing by my temples.  
"That was quite a knock back." I can hear the frown in her voice. I bet she's giving Snape a once-over. I bet she thinks our cover story is utter shite.  
I nod once, cautiously.  
There is a long pause.  
"Will I be blind.for the rest of my life?" I ask, finally, unable to bear the suspense, barely able to get the words out of my mouth.  
"No. No you won't." Her voice is heavy, and not entirely reassuring. "We should be able to get, if not all, then most of your vision back. Professor Snape, I'm sure you've heard of the Anticaecus potion." He must have nodded because the Healer continues. "It will take several months, but it should slowly be able to restore your vision. Until that time, you'll need to spend a few weeks with one of our rehabilitators who will help you learn to get by while your vision is temporarily impaired. You will need to come here for that, as well as the weekly administrations of this potion. It will take me about two weeks to make the potion, as your ailment is not a common one. If by that time, however, you will be at Hogwarts, Madame Pomfrey is thoroughly qualified to administer the potion." It was a half question. I must admit I was curious myself as to when I'd be heading to Hogwarts. School had been in session for about two and a half months at this point.  
"Miss Philips will be at Hogwarts at that point, yes."  
"I will write a note to Poppy, then, for you to give to her."  
Healer Raphael got up from her seat in front of me, and I heard the rattle of her opening a drawer to get out parchment and quill.  
"How many times a week will this therapy have to be?"  
"Every day." The answer was absent minded.  
I feel Snape stiffen beside me from.surprise? Shock? Anger? I have the distinct feeling his eyes were on me. "Is there any way we could have the rehabilitator come to Hogwarts? Making sure she is in tune with our studies at Hogwarts is rather vital right now."  
"I don't see why not." The Healer seemed rather surprised at the idea of it. "Wells would probably do it. He's still in training, but he's our best. Just owl him to set up a time. I know he won't mind going back to Hogwarts."  
"We thank you." Snape said politely.  
"Ah, yes. Thanks." I added quickly, feeling I should say something.  
"And you, young lady, should be very careful. Don't be surprised at all the bruises you'll get running about knocking into things." The Healer says kindly, but sternly. Her steps move closer to where I am sitting. "Here's the note."  
"Thank you." Snape said. "We'd best be going. I need to get back in time to be ready for classes tomorrow."  
Great, now I feel even worse. He's taken a whole day off so he can cart me around places.  
I stand meekly when Snape takes my arm again, and we head out the door. We walk in silence for awhile until I work up the nerve to speak. "I'm afraid I've become more trouble than I'm worth." I say, hoping that will work for an apology.  
A moments pause before he replied, "Unfortunately, you're not."  
This cryptic answer did not make me feel better.  
"Do you think you could handle using the Floo Network on the way back?"  
I shrug, feeling worse than before, though I was not sure why. "Sure."  
We keep walking, the noise of the hospital gradually growing louder and covering the silence between us. "Door." Turning right, I make it through the doorway just brushing the edges. This room is quite crowded. The voices in the room blur together into a low roar, each voice we pass seeming louder than the last: "I told you not to touch the bandage! Just look at the mess you made! Now we'll have to go back and." "Now I smell all funny, Mommy!" "If you don't settle down we'll take the Muggle way home!" "Children didn't act like this when I was young!" "Really must hurry! I have an important meeting on regulating the thread count of flying carpets.."  
I shook my head. Who knew the wizarding world was so busy? My life had been extremely mundane. Some of that, I'm sure, was due to my father's watchful eye. I am not thinking of my father.  
We wait in line for awhile. At least that's what I think we are doing. We walk two steps, stop, walk two steps, stop. My companion chooses not to fill me in on what was going on, so I am merely guessing. Finally we get to the head of the line. A bored voice intones, "A sickle per person. That will be two sickles please."  
Oh lord, Snape will have to pay for that. I open my mouth to say I will pay my way when I realized I can not. All of my mother's wizard money, as well as mine, is stored safely in Gringott's bank; only taken out on our few excursions to Diagon Alley. I sigh. I am feeling worse by the minute. I can't wait until I get ho-to the castle. I hope they let me go straight to bed when we get there.  
Snape must have handed over both the sickles because he moves me forward into position in front of what I hope is a fireplace, stuffing the bit of floo powder in my palm, ordering, "Throw the floo powder, walk straight ahead about two steps, and say 'Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office' very clearly. Understand?"  
"Yes." I deadpanned. "Just because I was home schooled doesn't mean I don't know how floo powder works."  
"Just get in there." Snape snapped.  
I throw the powder down, I pray it's in the right direction. Hearing the fire roar a little, I walk forward roughly two steps saying as clearly as possible, "Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office." I tuck in my elbows as the warm flames lick around me and warm air flies past me on all sides. It all stops suddenly, and I stumble and fall out onto hard, cool stone, coughing a bit.  
"I thought you would be showing up soon." A kind and familiar voice says above my head. An old, strong hand reaches down and helps me up off the floor. "Have a seat, won't you please?" Dumbledore. The words Snape had instructed me to say and I had repeated without analyzing them clicked into place. I am in Headmaster Dumbledore's office. This makes me more than a little nervous.  
He guides me to a chair, allowing me to feel around myself with my hands as we go. I was very careful to touch very lightly just in case I broke something. When we got to the chair, I sat down gratefully. It was a comfortable chair, padded, cushy, slightly bouncy, with a high back and (Thank Merlin!) arm rests. I could fall asleep right now.  
"Ah, and here is Professor Snape." Dumbledore commented. He sounded farther away than before. He must be sitting behind his desk, or something, I think.  
Professor Snape must have arrived with much more grace than I did. I hear no stumble or fall, and not even the slightest cough to betray inhaling any soot. I do hear him lightly brushing off his robes. "Good evening, Headmaster. I apologize if we are late or interrupting anything."  
Damn it. I didn't even think of that. Why can't I ever think of the proper thing to say? The Headmaster must think I'm very rude.  
"No, no. Nothing terribly important. Have a seat, Severus."  
Snape brushes past me on his way to sit. I straighten up, realizing I am slouching.  
"Well, then. What is the report?"  
"The Healer thought Miss Philips' condition could be cured."  
"Excellent."  
"It will, however, take a few months. Madame Pomfrey may administer the potion for the cure once a week. I have a note here from the Healer." Snape pauses, and I hear the rustling of paper as the note is passed between Snape and Dumbledore.  
"Good. I can send this up to Poppy, if you'd like Severus."  
"I may as well do it. Miss Philips also needs to learn how to handle her current situation, and I took the liberty of requesting that the Healer come here to do his therapy. I hope the Headmaster doesn't mind.?"  
"That is perfectly fine. I thank you for taking the initiative, Severus."  
"His name is Wells, and I need to owl him to arrange a time and place. I'll send the note to Madame Pomfrey before I send the owl."  
"Wells. Silas Wells? A delightful young man. He was one of the top students in his year. It will be good to see him again."  
"Yes Headmaster." It hardly sounds as though Snape really agrees. "If there is nothing else for us to discuss, I can escort Miss Philips to her room and.."  
Dumbledore interrupts as Snape trails off. "You go ahead, I can escort Miss Philips to her room. I know you would like to see the notes the substitute left behind, as well as look over tomorrow's lesson plan." There was a hint of humor in the Headmaster's voice as he said this.  
"Thank you Headmaster. Good evening Miss Philips." Snape walks past me again, and I hear a door open and close behind me. I am alone with Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.  
He is first to speak. "I trust your journey went well?"  
"Yessir. I'm a little sore from running into things, though."  
The headmaster chuckles a little. "I suspect you will have to get used to that for the time being. You must be very tired from all that bumping. I'll escort you to your room."  
I hear him move around the desk as I stand from my chair. He takes my arm in his, and moving me carefully around the armchair, we maneuver out the door without incident. "Step down just once, and the staircase will carry us the rest of the way down." I could kiss the man for having moving stairs to his office, I think as we slowly spiraled down.  
We disembark at the bottom, and wait a moment. I hear the sound of stone scraping against stone. "I have a stone gargoyle that guards the entrance to my office." The Headmaster remarked.  
"I see." I say, noticing, too late, the irony of my statement. We walk forward and I hear it scraping closed behind us.  
"Headmaster," I say tentatively, as Dumbledore starts to take a step to our right. "Would you mind if we went very slowly and along the wall so I can start learning my way about? D'you-do you have the time?"  
"Certainly Miss Philips. I think it a very good idea indeed." He edges me over towards a wall, and I put out my left hand out to gently trail along the wall as we walk. I decide I would try counting steps until turns and so forth to see if I can keep track of where I am going. I command my feet and fingers to remember whatever my brain does not. "The castle has been told of your coming. It will help you. And if you feel that you have lost yourself, then just ask for help from one of the portraits, and they will give it." He says this as my fingers trail across the bottom of a gilded frame.  
"Thank you." I reply. It did not surprise me that the castle had been asked to help me. I had read about the castle in Hogwarts, A History, as well as numerous other books on the awareness of man-made structures. Buildings, especially arcane and magically built ones such as this, have a level of consciousness and can be spoken to, in a loose sense of the word. They have a long memory, and the very walls have ears, so to speak. Talking to buildings is not an easy thing. But, of course, Dumbledore would be able to handle such a thing as that.  
We were heading down a staircase now, and I was counting the number of steps it had. "Jump over the thirteenth step, it's missing." Dumbedore says suddenly. After counting step number eleven, I jump, landing on the fourteenth, and count the last four down. So thirteenth step from top, fifth from bottom. I file this fact away in my brain. We turn right and continue down a quiet corridor, taking two flights of stairs down at the end, each with twelve steps. We must be in a subterranean part of the castle, like a dungeon perhaps, because the air is much cooler and felt faintly damp.  
The Headmaster and I must have walked nearly two hundred steps, my hand passing over numerous wooden doors in the process, before coming to rest before something made of cloth. A curtain? Or a tapestry?  
"Your room is behind this tapestry." Dumbledore states. "Your things from your room are in there, as well as some new things you'll need for school, such as your school robes. You will not become part of a house, for I would not find it in your best interests at this time. And," He sees me opening my mouth to ask if my things had been paid for by someone else, "the new things were bought with your mother's money, all of which now belongs to you. So do not worry about being beholden. Someone will come and fetch you in the morning to help you find your way to your first class, which-I think-is History of Magic. Then Charms and Advanced Ancient Runes."  
I nod my head. I want to ask a thousand questions: Why wasn't I to be sorted? That was the thing I was looking forward to most, to belong somewhere, to have a surrogate family. What other classes would I be taking? Why was I taking Advanced Ancient Runes? I hope he hadn't put me in any classes I hadn't studied at home, like Herbology or Divination or studying magical creatures. If I wasn't feeling so drained of energy, I would panic. But all I do is nod my head tiredly.  
"Good night, then, Miss Philips. I hope you sleep well."  
"Thank you, Headmaster. I wish you the same." I let go of his arm and turn around to move the tapestry aside. I stumble through the opening behind it. Catching myself before I fall, I put out both my arms to feel my way into bed. I shuffle forward moving my hands back and forth until I catch onto what feels like one of the bedposts. I feel my way across the bed sheets to the lumps of pillows at the top. My bed cover is already turned down, waiting for me to crawl in. On top of the pillow nearest to me, I feel the familiar texture of my worn pajama pants and tank top. Smiling for the first time that day, I strip down and put on my sleeping clothes. It feels so wonderful to be in such familiar, comfortable clothes.  
I hop into my bed, which is rather high, banging my shins in the process. I am going to look like I fought with a staircase and lost, I think ruefully. I lay my head back into the soft, feather pillows, closing my eyes. Not that it makes a difference, I think a little bitterly.  
Unfortunately, I do not fall asleep as soon as I had hoped. Thoughts of the past two days events run over and over through my head, and I can't stop seeing my mother's lifeless body. I had always loved my mother, but never been overly fond of her. She had never stood up to my father for herself, or for me, and she had kept me out of the proper world I belonged in, or thought I belonged in. I still cry for her though. She was not always a supportive mother, but she had always been loving. "You're the only thing I have to remind me of that other world, that other part of me." She had told me every once in awhile, usually while we were working on a spell or a potion. Well now it's just me, sitting alone in a strange bed, remembering that other world I had lived in, that other part of me I would never, ever go back to again. 


	2. Diffusibility

CHAPTER TWO  
  
~ Diffusibility: The ability of a gas to mix completely with another gas.  
-From Chemistry Concepts and Problems  
  
~  
  
I awaken the next morning feeling somewhat better, my depression replaced with apprehension. I hope a shower will make me feel better. If I can find one.  
I sit up and slowly lower my feet onto a rug that I would find stretched underneath the bed to accommodate either side. I had, unwittingly, gotten out of the wrong side of the bed that day. The next half of an hour is spent searching for a door, besides the one I had entered, and only results in a good deal of bruises, things falling off of things (I hope they're all nearly irreplaceable, I think nastily), and a lot of yells and cursing. After the fruitless half hour, I make my way back to my bed with less bumping, for I am beginning to learn where things are, and sit on my bed to pout and grumble until someone came to force me bodily from the room.  
"Perhaps you might try getting out on the right side of the bed instead of the wrong one." A calm female voice breaks into my thoughts.  
I startle wildly. "May I ask who is speaking?" I ask nervously, after calming myself down.  
"Judith," the voice replies.  
"Er. May I ask where you are and how you got into my room?"  
I hear a small chuckle. "I'm sorry, you might see the humor in a moment if you aren't in a terribly black mood. I'm hanging on the wall on the far side from where you are sitting. I'm a portrait, I've been here for years."  
"Hmph," I say, unwilling to see the humor. It does not amuse me that she'd been watching me banging about the room for thirty minutes without saying a word. "So you're saying that the door to the bathroom is on the other side of my bed?"  
"Yes. Right next to the headboard."  
Grudgingly, I crawl across my bed to the other side and drop onto the other end of the rug. I feel forward for the door and find it. Walking in, I feel the cool, slightly rough tile beneath my feet.  
"You'll find the bathtub to your right and the sink to your left. And the towels are stacked in the drawer by the sink!" I hear Judith call from the room.  
I come back to the doorway. "Thank you," I say somewhat unwillingly.  
"That's what I'm here for," She replies cheerfully.  
Taking a bath is not as much of a chore as I thought it would be. I find the tub easily from the directions Judith has given me, and common sense tells me which knobs to adjust to get my preferred water temperature. Soap and a bottle of shampoo are at hand along the edge of the tub, so I bathe with relative ease.  
I come out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around myself, my wet hair dripping down my back. I need a haircut, I remember. "Judith?"  
"Madeline?" Judith's voice comes back with a hint of amusement. I think I will get along with her just fine.  
"D'you happen to know where they unpacked my clothes? Or I guess my school robes is what I'm really looking for."  
"Certainly. I watched them unpack it all. If you walk straight ahead you'll find a chest of drawers, probably the only piece of furniture you haven't hit yet."  
"Very funny."  
"Thank you. Your school things will be in the bottom three drawers, all your other clothes in the top three."  
I follow Judith's directions and run into the chest of drawers. I ignore her laughter, barely keeping a smile from my own face, and dig into the third drawer, finding skirts, shirts, and sweaters. In the drawer below are robes, socks, and a pair of shoes. The bottom drawer held winter accessories like a heavy cloak, a scarf, and thick hats and mittens.  
Well, first I need underwear. I try the fourth drawer from the bottom and find what I desire. Taking my underwear, a set of school clothes, robe, shoes and socks, I head back into the bathroom to change.  
I come out fully dressed and empty stomached. Well, I have on everything except my tie. "Judith," I announce. "Tell me how to put on my tie."  
"Heavens," she says, sounding a little taken aback. "Please tell me this isn't the first time you've put on a tie."  
"Luckily it isn't. I was in theatre at school and I had to wear one a few times. I still need help, though."  
"All right, let's see how this goes. If it doesn't work, we'll hang the whole idea of a tie," Judith replies. Thankfully, with Judith's help, I manage to get it on "Properly enough" (as Judith said) in about twenty minutes. I am exhausted after this latest endeavor, so I grope my way to the bed and perch myself on the edge, facing the wall where Judith hangs. "Meals are in the Great Hall here, aren't they?" I ask. I had read Hogwarts, A History so many times I knew it almost by heart. "With a ceiling bewitched to look like the sky outside?"  
"Yes, that's right. They brought you breakfast today though. A house elf just brought it in while you were changing. I guess they don't want you to brave going to the Great Hall yet."  
"I'm not sorted into a house anyway," I say crossly, "so I wouldn't have a place to sit. Where'd they put the food?"  
"Didn't sort you?" Judith mutters, almost as if to herself, "How curious. The food is on the bed behind you. I fancy that if you move carefully you shan't knock it over."  
I grimace at her comment, and then crawl carefully across my bed until I bump into something metal that clatters a little when I hit it. I sit cross-legged beside it and feel over the surface, noting the fork, knife, and napkin, as well as narrowly avoiding knocking the glass of juice over. On the plate are three strips of bacon, an egg done over-easy, and toast with jam already spread over it. How thoughtful of them. I lick my finger to see what kind of jam it is, Mmm, raspberry. My favorite.  
I put the napkin in my lap, and reach for my fork and knife before digging in. I think I managed to not make much of a mess, and any that I did, I think I kept confined to my napkin. I feel nice and full after finishing, and as no one had come to pick me up yet, I consider going back to sleep. My plans are interrupted by the small squeak of my door opening. I wonder if it's squeaky on purpose?  
"Miss Philips?" The ever-more-familiar voice of Professor Snape queries. I immediately sit up straighter, although this is hard because the bed is soft and comfortable and demands sprawling rather than rigidity.  
"Sir?" I venture.  
"Come. I'm to escort you to History of Magic, and I have a class of my own to start as well, so hurry up."  
I scramble off the bed quickly. "Don't forget your wand and bag," Judith whispers, as I feel my way around the bed.  
"Where are they?" I hiss back.  
"Your wand is in my hand, Miss Philips." This is Snape's voice, and it makes me stop in my tracks for a moment. "It was sitting on your night stand. You really must be more careful about where you put such things. Many wizards would not let it leave their side."  
I stiffen at this underlying slight. "Many wizards are not required to lead a Muggle life as well as a normal one," I respond through clenched teeth.  
"The bag," Judith says pointedly, trying to steer the conversation to safer ground, "is beside the night stand. It should have your proper books in it along with some quills and parchment. Be sure you put the proper books in for tomorrow's classes tonight."  
"Thank you," I answer. I have made it around to my night stand, and I bend down and pick up a canvas-like bag and put it on my shoulder. I straighten up slowly and hold out my hand so Snape can hand over my wand. I feel the end being put into my palm and I snatch it away-ignoring the urge to hex his underpants so he would have a horrible wedgie all day-and put it into the pocket of my robe.  
"Shall we go then?" I ask, holding out a hand to put on his arm.  
"Yes," He says shortly, "I can't afford to be late."  
I can, I think. I am dreading this. How will my first day of school go? Every god in the universe has apparently conspired against me: I am starting a new school; I am starting a new school in the middle of the year; I am starting a new school blind; I am starting a new school not knowing if I am able to compete at their level.  
We march out the door and down the hallway; no chance of me trying to learn my way around the school with Snape on my arm. He has a Duty: to dump me as quickly as possible so he won't be late.  
We go up a few flights of stairs before I hear the noise of my fellow students. The hall sounds crowded enough, but remarkably I run into no one.  
"Hurry up and get to your classes or you shall all be tardy! Creevy! If I see that blasted camera of yours go off one more time it is mine! Get along, all of you!" On second thought, it isn't so remarkable I'm running into no one. They're all avoiding Snape. This conclusion only makes me more depressed. I add another entry to the list of bad things in my head: I am starting school on the arm of the most unpopular person in school. Things quiet down after Snape draws all the attention to himself-actually to us. I heard people muttering to each other as we walk past, no doubt speculating about the New Girl on the arm of the Anal Git. I wish I was back in bed. "Door." Is the last thing Snape mutters to me before walking into my History of Magic class. The room, which had been filled with some laughter, but mostly subdued It's-Too-Early-To-Be-Up kind of talk, goes very quiet once we enter. "Professor Binns?" Snape speaks stiffly. I hear a slight cough, but no other sound of movement. It is a tad bit eerie. "Here is the new student, Madeline Philips. Good day." Snape lets go of my arm and walks out the door. I can hear him yelling at more students as he goes off down the hall. There is a small, wheezing cough, "Miss Phipps?" I turn my head to the direction of the voice, sure every eye in the classroom is on me. Maybe it is okay being blind. "It's Philips," I state clearly, not able to completely disguise the note of annoyance in my voice. "Yes, yes, of course." The wheezy voice continues. "Why don't you take a seat in that first desk, right ahead of you." Another cough. "Do you need some assistance.?" "No," I say haughtily. I move forward in slow shuffling steps, keeping my hands forward and low to feel for the desk. I grab it almost immediately, and finger my way around the end of the desk to my seat. I wish everyone would start talking again, already. I am as nervous as hell without them watching me. I sit my bag in my lap and feel around until I find some parchment and a quill, setting it on my desk before putting my bag on the floor next to my chair. I scoot my chair closer to the desk, and sit facing forward, wondering what will happen next. There is the pressure of a hand on my right arm and I turn my head. "Madeline Philips, Binns said?" It is a male voice and sounds friendly enough, if hesitant. "Yes. You're.?" "Grant Hughes." "I don't think I've seen you around. Are you new?" I nod. His next question, which house was I in, he asks slowly. I figure out later why he had been nervous about asking me: because I was in a class of Hufflepuffs, and he didn't want to look stupid by not knowing his own housemate, even if she was new. I tell him, of course, that I had not been sorted. This causes titters from the class all around us, who have been hanging onto our every word. Grant's next question is even more hesitant than the last. "Are you." He cannot seem to finish it. "Blind?" I offer. "Yes, I am. They tell me they can fix it, though. It's a bit of a pain in the arse, actually. Bit inconvenient, you know." This causes a little laughter from the rest of the class, more relief than anything that my blindness isn't a sore spot, and probably that they would not be permanently faced with awkwardness of my impairment, as I had been deemed "curable." "Ah, well.pleasure to meet you," the boy finishes lamely. "You too," I say cheerfully. Binns coughs louder than the first three times since I had met him, which seemed to signify the beginning of class. History of Magic turns out to be a very dull class. I had enjoyed history up until this point. My mother had been a history buff and had made history lessons for me seem as fun as reading a good adventure story; Binns sucked history dry. I scrawl down notes and dates here and there on my parchment-trying not to imagine the horrendous job I am doing at writing in straight lines-one cheek resting on my hand. I nearly fall asleep, and would have it if hadn't been for the overwhelming fear of making a Good First Impression. I am thankful when the bell rings. I put my things away and sit quietly as the rest of the class walks out quite vociferously, leading me to believe they feel the same way as I do about History of Magic. I don't know if I am supposed to find my own way to the next class, or if another teacher (Not Snape again, please!) was going to escort me. I am thinking on this as I stand tentatively from my chair, when someone taps me on the shoulder. I turnaround, curious as to who it is and what they want. "Madeline?" It is a soft female voice, she sounds a little shy. "Yes?" I reply patiently. "I'm Lila Madley. I can help you find your way to your next class if you need help.?" I smile broadly in relief. "Yes, thanks. I was wondering how I was going to find my way. I have charms, that isn't out of your way is it?" "No, no." There is relief in her voice too, though about what exactly, I'm not sure. "I have time before Herbology." I stand patiently, waiting for her to lead on. "Um.er." She doesn't know what to do with me now that she has me. "If I can just keep my hand on your arm, I'll try and keep up with you," I suggest helpfully. "All right." I put my hand out onto her arm. "Let's get going then. I'll try to warn you so you don't bump into things," she adds as we made our way out of the classroom into the noisy corridor. "Don't worry about it. Another spot of black and blue won't matter. I'm sure my shins look like I tried going out for an international rugby team. Excuse me," I add as I shoulder into someone in the hall. "Rugby?" Lila queried. I have been so used to avoiding using terms from the wizarding world, that I forgot it was okay to mention things like quidditch, bludgers, and trolls. "Er.what I meant to say was like I tried making friends with a bludger," I amend quickly. Good job me, I think, make yourself look daft in front of the first person who is friendly to you. Before I can try and salvage the conversation I am attempting, I am distracted by a cool light breeze and a definite change in acoustics. "Are we outside?" I ask. Are you taking me someplace where you and your mates can pull some dreadful newbie prank on me that will reduce me to a sniveling heap? I worry. Sounding a little surprised, she says "Yes." She must have remembered I can't see because she adds, "You have to cross the courtyard to get to charms." To get from History of Magic to charms I must cross a courtyard, I note to myself. Less people run into me outside. Once back inside we walk up a flight of stairs, the number of which I forget to count and I am furious at myself. Lila left me at the Charms door, "It was nice meeting you. I hope I'll catch you later. Good luck.." Her voice drifts off into the blur of voices in the hall. I wish people didn't have such a penchant for leaving me at the front of classrooms, assuming I could handle everything from there. Oh well, I might as well prove them right. I compose myself mentally and walk into the classroom.and right into someone. Someone very solid. I stagger back from the force, managing to stay vertical. "Watch where you're going," a male voice declares testily. "I might if I could see," I snap back. "Watch yourself!" "Wait a minute," The voice speaks again. "you must be that new blind girl I heard some Hufflepuffs talking about. Melanie, is it?" "Madeline, actually." He is bending forward very close to my face, as if proximity might help him see me better. Or maybe me see him better. I tilt my head back. "What's your name?" "Jason Guisewit. If you're in Hufflepuff, what are you doing in a Ravenclaw charms class?" "I'm not in Hufflepuff. I wasn't sorted. I'm not in a house." I can see having a house to identify with is very important. Yet another bad mark on the list: I have started a new school Houseless. "You weren't? Weird." "Thank you. My self-confidence really need that," I say dryly, getting a little exasperated with this Jason fellow. "Sorry," He sounds like he has an apologetic smile on his face. "It's just that it is a bit odd. It does explain why you have all the different House colors on your tie, though." Well, I know what one article of clothing I have put on looks like. I suddenly wonder if I had put on matching socks, before tuning back into what Jason is saying. "I apologize if we shadows have offended.." He begins and trails off when I laugh delightedly. "Alas, I have not slumbered here, for the bruises on my legs are quite real." I smile. "I love Shakespeare," I add, thinking perhaps Jason was not such a jerk after all. "Class! Class! If you will please take your seats! We are learning the rather difficult Chance charm today." A squeaky voice speaks from the other end of the room. Jason must see the face I make at the words "difficult charm," because he laughs and tells me, "Come and sit next to me and we'll struggle through it together." He takes me by the arm and leads me to my seat, for which I am grateful. I cannot, of course, go through the class blissfully unnoticed. Professor Flitwick (Jason had whispered the name in my ear, telling me he was very small and very excitable) calls attention to me before starting the lesson. "Before starting the lesson, I just want to make sure Madeline Philips is here. Miss Philips?" "Yes sir. I'm here," I say as everyone maneuvers and cranes their necks to see the new girl who is blind. "Good, good." Flitwick continues on cheerfully and squeakily, apparently not noticing the class reaction. "Just wanted to make sure you had made it to class. It's always lovely to have a new student. Now then, on to the lesson. We'll start out by practicing the wand movement for this charm, which is a bit trickier than most.." And so he went on, explaining the finer points of the Chance Charm, which can tip the odds of say a poker game in your favor, having everyone duplicate his movement (which I'm sure went atrociously in my case), then repeat the words before letting us pair up to practice. Jason tries to help me the best he can, but since I can not see the wand movement it makes it very strenuous to get the charm to work right. We practice casting the charm on a deck of cards after our partner has selected a card from the deck, using the charm will help us better predict which card our partner holds in his hands. Jason is better than he had alluded to at the beginning of class, and masters the charm quite quickly. The only thing I succeed in doing is making my wrist tired, and no doubt get a head start down the road to carpal tunnel. We have good laughs at my attempts though, which makes me feel better about my day: that I can laugh with someone over my mistakes is quite an accomplishment I decide. I feel like I've found the beginnings of a friendship in Jason. He offers to take me down to lunch with him after class is over. I can even sit with him and his friends. Maybe I can become a pseudo-house member. Just call me quasi-Ravenclaw. I make it down to the Great Hall fairly safely on Jason's arm. He sits me down at the Ravenclaw table and introduces me around to at least half a dozen people who's names jumble in my mind, and I hope I won't be called upon to remember them just yet. The Great Hall is the loudest place I have been in yet. It is like standing in the middle of a storm tossed ocean for all the noise and energy. It's the energy that scares me the most-it is so palpable-I am in the belly of the beast I cannot see. I have never considered myself a paranoid person before. I am so anxious, I eat very little. The students around me are helpful in telling me what is in the dish I am ladling onto my plate, but I simply have no appetite. I am also being plied with dozens of questions so I barely have time to draw breath, much less eat. Where am I from? Why haven't I been at Hogwarts before? Why haven't I been sorted? What was it like learning magic and going to Muggle school? What is my favorite quidditch team? What classes am I taking? What are my favorite subjects? Am I a fan of the Weird Sisters? What had I thought of my classes so far? Where am I staying since I'm not in a House? How long will it be before I can see again? I answer them the best I can, and am actually relieved when Snape appears at my elbow "requesting to have a word with me." I am not relieved enough, however, to forget that Snape and I in an equation do not equal good public relations. Outside the Great Hall, after Snape takes House points from two students who are apparently tracking mud in on the floor, he informs me that my rehabilitator will be arriving this evening for the first session, and that after Advanced Ancient Runes I am to return to my room and stay there until he arrives. Hooray for house-arrest, I think darkly. "I will escort you back to your room now," he finishes, saying it rather ungraciously, I think. As we stalk (I swear this man does not walk like a normal man) back in the direction of my room, I count the stairs down-twenty-three-before gaining the courage to ask Snape a question. "Um, Professor?" "Yes Miss Philips?" "Could you tell me what classes I have scheduled for tomorrow?" He is silent for a moment, and I am afraid he is going to be a snot and not answer me at all. "Advanced Arithmancy, Advanced Transfiguration, Advanced Potions." His voice trails off for a moment. ".and Defense Against the Dark Arts. In that order." Then he is silent, but it does not sound as though he is finished speaking. I wait patiently counting the number of steps we've taken since the last left turn. "How much did your mother teach you about the Dark Arts?" He finally asks. "Lots of dark creatures. Read about those in books. Some defense things." I frown, beginning to worry. Speaking doubtfully, I say, "But not really a lot of those. I may not be up to speed with what you have here. My mother.she didn't like doing Dark Arts things. I think it was because she may have not been very good at it." The next silence is very loud and a lot longer than the past ones. I am afraid I have said something that has somehow offended Snape. I start replaying the conversation in my head, trying to find the part where I've gone wrong so I can apologize, when suddenly Snape breaks the silence. "I suspected as much." I don't like the tone he uses when he says it. "Your Defense Against Dark Arts will most likely be in the evening after dinner. We are going to find someone to give you personal lessons. I don't know if we will have found someone by tomorrow, so you may not have that class tomorrow." He is silent again, like he is brooding something. However, he speaks no more until we got to the door of my room. "Don't forget to come straight to your room after dinner," he says before leaving me. Good day to you too, I think sarcastically as I move aside the tapestry and walk into my room. I drop my school bag on the floor close to the door so I won't forget it. I kick off my shoes before realizing I can't see where they have gone to pick them up again. I spend thirty minutes of my hour before class finding those blasted shoes. Judith won't help me, she says I needed to learn not to do things like that. I am not happy with her at all. The last thirty minutes I spend changing out my books-Judith actually assists me here-and arranging the desk by the door so it will be ready for homework this evening. Snape picks me up again, rushing me to Advanced Ancient Runes as quickly as possible. There is no way I'm going to learn my way around the school if Snape keeps taking me everywhere, I think crossly after he has dumped me in front of the classroom door. There is some talk as I walk through the doorway, but it goes very quiet as I enter the room. I slow to a stop before I run into anything, waiting for someone to say something. "Madeline? The new girl?" a female voice with a faint Irish accent asks. "Hello? Yes?" I reply smiling slightly. "Is it true that you aren't part of a house?" the same voice again. "Yes." I hope the conversation doesn't continue along these lines. "Think you can handle doing Ancient Runes if you're blind?" I am really beginning to dislike this person, whoever she is. "I certainly hope so." I don't want her to know I am wondering the same thing. I wish I could see to sit down. There is a really awkward pause. I wish I could think of something to say. I wish someone else (someone pleasant if possible) could think of something to say. Suddenly, firm footsteps enter the room. "All right everyone, take a seat, we have plenty of work to do today." A voice with a crisp, though not pronounced, English accent announces, setting something that sounds like a briefcase on his desk or perhaps a students desk. I turn around to face it. I can't sit until I know where to sit. "Oh. You must be Madeline Philips?" I rather wish I wasn't at the moment. "Yes sir," I say a bit faintly. "Good. Excellent. I'm prepared for you." Really? "Here, let me show you to your seat." I strong hand takes my arm and leads me back into a seat. "My name is Professor Kauno by the way. There you go. Now we're all ready to begin." He is already back up at the front of the class by the time he finishes the sentence. This man has waaay to much energy to be teaching such a dusty subject Ancient Runes, I think to myself. "Okay. Everyone get out your books and turn to page three-hundred sixty- nine. We're going to start translating some druid's writings." He pauses as people get out their books and flip to the specified page. "Madeline," I wish he would stop drawing attention to me, "your book should be enchanted so that the runes are raised to where you can feel them with your fingers. Think you can manage?" "Yes." I reply quietly from where I sit. "Everyone get to work then. And don't forget the differences we discussed yesterday about the way druids disguised some of the runes to make it harder to translate. Just ask if you need any help." There is a rustle as everyone flips to the proper page number and gets out parchment, ink, and quills. I open my book, hoping the raised writing rule works for the page numbers. It does, they are written in runes as well. I smile slightly at this, wondering if that's part of what makes this class advanced. I pull out a roll of parchment as well as my nice eagle feather quill and ink pot. I slowly begin to relax as I run my left hand fingers over the runes, writing out the translation with my other hand. Ancient Runes is easy for me, and therefore relaxing. All you need for Ancient Runes is a good memory to memorize all the runes, some common sense to see patterns in the runes, a sharp quill, and plenty of time on your hands. Learning runes, even the different variations from culture to culture, had been simple for me; I just think of it as learning the periodic table, or common ions, or the properties of various roots and herbs. It is straightforward, it follows certain rules, and is always precise, leaving no room for ambiguity like charms, or curses and hexes. Time goes fairly quickly, which makes me happy after the welcome I had received upon arriving in the classroom, and I am thankful when the bell rang for us to leave. "Homework tonight is writing a foot and a half long essay about the differences in druid runes, Nordic runes, and Celtic runes. Due in two days!" Professor Kauno calls over the class' mad rush to leave. I wait, thinking, At least I can do my Ancient Runes homework tonight. After it is quiet enough for me to assume everyone has left, I stand up from my desk, wondering how I am going to find my way back to my room. "Hey Madeline!" A familiar voice says from the doorway. I pause from my slow walk up the aisle and wait as Jason's footsteps approach me, slapping against the stone floor. "Good, I caught you. Snape-" Jason seems to remember Kauno is there and quickly amends. "Professor Snape sent me to bring you to his classroom. I just had him for Potions." He explains. I wonder what Snape wants now. Out loud I say, "Good. I was just wondering what to do next." Jason takes my arm and leads me out into a hall clearly filled with students coming out of their last class of the day. We pass conversations about quidditch practice, how much homework some teacher named McGonagall has assigned, what time someone has detention that night, the best books to use for the essay on Polyjuice Potions, the strange creature in Care of Magical Creatures, and the cut a person had received from a vicious plant in Herbology. Jason asks me how my ancient runes class had gone. "Okay." I say. I don't really want to discuss it. He then begins describing what had happened in the herbology class he had right after lunch. A plant had gone totally wild and hurt a number of students before Professor Sprout had been able to get it under control-it was apparently the most fun he's ever had in that class since first year. By this time we are in the dungeons, and nearly to Snape's classroom. "Here she is, Professor," Jason said once we arrived. "Thank you Mr. Guisewit," Snape says coolly, which apparently is a dismissal because Jason hisses "Bye Madeline" in my ear before getting away as quickly as possible. I wait uncomfortably for Snape to speak and tell me why I am here in his classroom. "Well, Miss Philips," he says in that smooth voice of his, "I understand that you wish to know your way around school better, so I thought we would start here." Where is this leading? "You will find that if you leave my classroom and go right down the corridor, turning right again at the corner, you will eventually find yourself outside your room. You think you can handle that?" There is a sneer in his voice as though he seriously doubts it. "Yes, thanks!" I say brightly, hoping to annoy him. Not waiting for any response, and there is none, I turn about and walk towards the back of the classroom where the door is, bumping into the first desk before finding the aisle. I make my way out of the classroom otherwise unharmed, and continue to my right outside the door. When I finally make it to the corner I pause for a moment to rest. I have been walking briskly to work off my irritation at Snape. After a minute I continue on again, slowly, through the last stretch of my journey. It is scarier than I thought it would be walking to my room by myself. You'd better get used to it, I tell myself sternly. You're going to be doing it for a few months at least, until that potion starts working. I am ever so thankful to feel the familiar roughness of the tapestry that conceals the doorway to my room. I feel my way left towards my desk where I sit down my bag with a sigh. This time I remember to take off my shoes and sit them by the desk chair where I will remember they are. I sit down in the wooden chair and put my feet up on the desk. "Have a rough day, dear?" Judith's voice asks kindly. I consider this before answering. "A bit. Not as bad as I thought it would be. It could have been worse." "Cheerful sort, aren't we?" "Not at all," I reply breezily. I yawn and then take my feet off the desk. "I have homework to do," I add. "Well that explains it, now doesn't it?" Judith mutters, presumably to herself. I reach down into my bag and pull out parchment and writing supplies. I will do my ancient runes homework, it's easy, and quite possibly the only homework I know how to do. I flatten down my roll of parchment, and bending over it, begin to write.  
  
I do not hear him come in. I think he stood there a minute or two before announcing his presence. I had been leaning back in my chair, feet on the desk again, tie hung loosely around my neck, wishing I had some music to listen to, and wondering what had happened to my collection of CDs. "You must be Madeline Philips," a deep male voice says. I turn slightly in the direction of the voice. "You must be the fifth person to say that today," I reply with a smile. "Silas Wells, I presume?" I slip my feet off my desk and sit up straight in my chair, sticking out my hand. Silas walks towards me and grasps my hand in a firm handshake. He has big, sturdy hands with a wide palm. He let go and I hear the desk creak slightly as he leans against it. "So they stuck you in a room by yourself? Sort of takes the fun out of Hogwarts not being in a house." "Everyone keeps harping on that as well," I reply dryly. "Right. Sorry." He changes subjects quickly. "Doing homework then?" I nod and say yes. I hear him pick up the roll of parchment I had finished earlier. Writing a foot and a half had been easy, I had even gone over a bit. "Hm. Your handwriting's uneven-which is to be expected," he adds hastily, "but better than most I've seen. Let me see your quill." I walk my fingers across my desk until I find my quill which I hold in his direction. "Autoledger," he intones, and places the quill back in my hand. "There. Now your quill will help keep your lines even. Try it out." Silas shoves a scrap of parchment strewn on my desk in front of me. I find the edge of the parchment and move my quill a little to the right before writing down the first thing that comes to mind. When I find myself getting near the other edge of the paper, my quill starts to tug on my hand. Surprised, I finish the word I was writing and stop. The quill automatically directs my hand down and left to start the next line. "Wicked," I say, impressed. "Thank you," Silas replies in mock humility. "So.what do we do now?" "Now? I guess we start getting you familiar with the school. You're going to have to memorize how to get from place to place in the castle by the order of your classes. You'll have to stick close to the walls so you can feel them with your hand and feel for clues that will help you remember where you are. The castle will help." So I've been told, I think. "Okay, then. Let's go!" I jump out from my seat, making my chair lean back like it is going to fall. I cringe in embarrassment the second before it crashes. It doesn't crash. Silas has reached around quickly and grabbed the chair before it hit the floor. I slowly let my fingers uncurl from my fists, still mortified. Stepping back from me, Silas says teasingly, "Careful. I know you're terribly excited that you get to work with me, Silas Wells, but you must contain yourself." "Don't give yourself so much credit. It's the excuse to get away from my homework that's making me so excitable." Silas turns serious suddenly. "Homework is important, unfortunately, and we don't want you falling behind because you're temporarily blind. What do you have?" I grimace, annoyed at myself for giving away my problems to someone I hardly know. "Don't worry about it," I say evenly. "Tell me." "It's nothing I-" "Tell me." "Look, can-" "I'm waiting until you tell me." I glare in his general direction. He is making me feel like a five year old. "Charms," I finally admit grudgingly, "which is enough in itself." "Excellent." I see nothing excellent in the matter. "Well, then. We might as well kill two birds with one stone; we'll start familiarizing you by taking a trip to the Great Hall, and then there we'll do your charms homework." I raise one eyebrow, slowly. I see no fun in making an ass of myself for a second time in front of my schoolmates. "Come on and get your shoes." He is getting all excited now. "Do you need your charms book?" "No." "On second thought, don't get your shoes." I stand up quickly from reaching down for my shoes and bump my head into his chin. "Sorry," I say, rubbing the top of my head, again mortified at my clumsiness. Silas waves it aside. "Doesn't matter. Don't wear your shoes-though you might want to keep your socks on, it's a bit cold-it might help if you can get a better feel of the layout without your shoes on." I smile. "That's the best thing anyone's said to me all day." Chuckling, Silas tugs on my arm, pulling me towards the door, impatient. "Come on, come on." "No need to be impatient," I say a little testily, my sock feet sliding across the rug free edge of my room. The stone is smooth and cool against my light cotton stockings, much better than the cramped quarters of my shoes. "You sound like Professor Snape." He stops pulling me and says mock solemnly, "I cannot compare to Professor Snape." "Oh? You don't think you're as intelligent as he is?" "Nope. Not as snarky." I chuckle. "Too bad. I rather like that aspect of him." Silas opens the heavy wooden door, which creaks, protesting, and leads me into the corridor where the acoustics change. He puts my left hand on his arm, which is firm and solid like his hand, and allows me reach out to touch the wall with my right. Turn right outside my door. "You obviously have poor taste in men," he states. "No, there are just too many bland tasting ones," I say with a mischievous smile. He is quiet for a moment before saying, "Have you been counting your steps?" "Of course." We are quiet as we proceed down the corridor. The only noise is the tiny whisper of my slow, shuffling sock feet, and vague hiss of flames flickering, illuminating the long corridor. About half-way through our progress, there is a statue of something, which I run my hands over carefully, trying to remember the feel of the crevices. Finally we reach the bottom of the stairs. Silas doesn't warn me, so I realize we were at the stairs when I stub my left toe. Just another injury to add to my list. "Ow!" I yell, "so no warnings about stairs? I believe you're worse than Snape." "I'm ignoring your ungrateful comment, and you have to learn to get along. I'm not going to warn you that you've reached the top either. You need to count them-" I cut him off, "Twenty-three. There are twenty-three steps in the stairs leading to the dungeon." He is quiet with what I hope is surprise. "I see you are ahead of the game. These next to weeks should be fairly easy then." We start to mount the stairs. "Just wait until we're working on charms. I hope you don't find your eyes or ears to be necessary organs." "Ha. Don't worry, I'm a trained professional. I know what I'm doing." I grin. "Famous last words." "I'm hurt by your lack of faith in me." He pretends to sound hurt. "Don't worry, I don't have faith in anything." It is silent on the rest of the way to the Great Hall. I hope I haven't said anything wrong. The Great Hall is quieter than I thought it would be. This is good: there are less students there to watch my exhibition of Charms One Shouldn't Attempt When Blind. "Wells!" Someone cries as we progress past one of the House tables, which is brushing up against my leg. "What the devil are you doing here?" I hear feet bounding across the stone. Yet another person with too much energy, only this one is female. "Amata." He is amused. "Finally taller than your sister? What's Anya up to these days anyway?" "Don't even ask how I am." This is spoken sarcastically. "We're both quite well, thanks. I'm a whole inch taller than Anya and have been since you graduated. Anya, she's trying to become an Auror; going pretty well I think. I'm trying to find someone to play chess with. Up for the challenge?" The idea of a chess challenge grabs my attention. I loved chess and other games of logic, puzzles and the like. My father had taught me how to play chess as a little girl. This was, of course, before he-and I, for that matter-learned of my magical abilities. "Can't, sorry. Here on the job. Amata Coria, this is Madeline, my new charge." I stick out my right hand and feel Amata take it. Her hand is small and slender, but her handshake is firm. "Nice to meet you, Madeline. You must be that new student I heard about." Her voice came a from a few inches below me, so she must have been fairly short. I sigh, "My reputation precedes me." "What are you two doing here?" I lean forward slightly, as though sharing a secret, "Your friend Silas here thinks that my self-esteem will be effectively destroyed by practicing my charms homework in front of the student body, thus finishing what my blindness began." Amata laughs appreciatively. "That's our Silas. Always looking out for the welfare of others. It's a wonder he's in Healing." "Easy now. I'm ending this conversation before you two can gang up on me. And you Maddy-hardly knowing me! Amata, I'll be on the opposite of whichever end of the Ravenclaw table you've chosen to trap your victims into a chess game." I can tell there is a huge grin on the girls face as she speaks, "Good seeing you again, then Wells. Come by the common room if you're here again. I'll tell the others to look out for you so we can let you in. Ah, and here's my next victim." Amata's voice trails off as she heads behind us to the newest unsuspecting (or suspecting, for all I know) student. Silas leads me on again until announcing, "Here we go. This place seems to give us plenty of room." I feel forward and find the solid wooden edge of the table. I disengage my hand from Silas' arm and sit down carefully, folding my hands in front of me on the table like a good girl on her first day of school. Oh, wait.. I feel the bench give slightly as the stable weight of Silas settles down beside me. "Ah. It's good to be back." "Glad you find it so enjoyable," I reply placidly. He is very quiet for a long time and I wonder if he'd lost himself in the nostalgia. When he finally speaks, however, it doesn't sound as though he has just pulled himself back up from the past. "All right. What was that charm you're supposed to be working on." "Chance Charm." "Lets see how you do. Go on, show me what you have down. Show me some wand action." I raise an eyebrow, more to myself than to him. "Okay.." I pull out my wand and hold it ready in front of me, hesitating for a moment thinking of all the people who will see my blundering. Oh hell. Might as use the cat mentality: if you can't see them, they can't see you. I move my wand about haphazardly in what I hope has some semblance to what Flitwick had been teaching us. "Dear God. You are as bad as you said," Silas says, sounding more amused than anything. "And you're just as bad as I said." I reply crossly, dropping my arm and hiding my wand under crossed arms. "But luckily, I'm here to help you." "You'll notice I'm not holding my breath." Ignoring me, he continues, "It's not really that bad. It's only difficult because you can't see the wand movement-" "You haven't seen me when I have my full sight." "-but this is a problem easily solved. Arm out, now." I grudgingly pull out my arm, wondering how he is going to help me. Good Maddy has too much influence over my brain. To my surprise, Silas grips my wrist firmly with his own hand, and slowly directs my wand hand in the correct pattern. So surprised, I forget to pay attention to what he is doing with my hand. "Do it again," I say, thinking this novel idea a very good one indeed. "Please." I have Silas do it several times before I attempt it on my own. The spell still doesn't work, but Silas says I am getting closer to what I am supposed to be doing. We aim our spells at Amata's unlucky opponents, Silas pointing me in the right direction, hoping to give them and edge in the game. At the end of the hour I have gotten the spell pretty much under my command. "Or good enough to get you through class tomorrow," he says. "I guess I'd better get you back to your room." Silas stands up. I lay my head on the cool wooden table. Day one down. How many more to go? I need to find out. Soon. "Silas? I can call you Silas, right?" I say suddenly, sitting up. "Yes and yes." "Which house table are we-I-sitting?" "Ravenclaw. Why?" I shrug. "Tell me the layout of the Great Hall." Silas sits down beside me again. "Okay. Well, to your right.wait. Face forward. Face me. I turn accordingly, straddling the bench. "Okay, north, in front of you-way in front actually-is the head table where all the professors sit for meals; it runs east to west, towards all the students. The House tables run north to south; to your left is Slytherin, then us, Ravenclaw, then Hufflepuff and Gryffindor on your right." I nod, thinking, imprinting what Silas has said into my brain. "Come on. You look tired," he says, quietly, taking my arm, helping me up out of my seat. I am, unfortunately, twice as clumsy when people try to help me. "Ow! Dammit!" I cry as I bang one shin on the bench's edge. The Hall becomes quieter for a moment, before the usual hum returns to normal. Silas says nothing as I carefully step over the bench. "You think they'd pad things around here," I mutter. We walk in silence back to my room. I think my feet and hands are beginning to remember the path. I remember all the number of stairs for the staircase. When we get to the tapestry, Silas lets me pull it aside and open the door, taking my hand off his arm. "I'll see you tomorrow then, Maddy." He sounds tired too. "You don't mind me calling you Maddy, do you?" I shrug. "No. It's a common nickname for me." "Hm. We'll have to come up with something more original. How about Mads?" I grimace, then grin. "Only if I get to call you Lass." "Okay, fair enough. Night, Maddy." "Good night Silas. Thanks for the help on the charms homework." "No-" He is cut off by a yawn. "Sorry. No problem." I turn around to begin the search for bedclothes and bed. I hear the door squeak close behind me. "Have a good time, dear?" "Oh smashing," I say dryly, moving carefully towards the chest of drawers, arms straight out. "Run into that many things, did you?" "Ow!" I have run into the corner of the chest of drawers. "Actually no, I didn't, thank you very much." Judith has a low chuckle, kind of like a contented purr. "I'm going to bed before you can make any more smart remarks." "Not bloody likely." She replies, amused. She is right. 


	3. Viscosity

A/N: Well, here is the third chapter. I have finally managed to write myself out a hole, and this story now, officially, has Direction. So hopefully updates won't be too long in coming. Chapter four is at the beta and hopefully the rest won't be too far behind. Please R/R, it really makes a person's day!  
Dislcaimer: Standard Harry Potter disclaimer applies. The chemistry quote belongs to a book written by Clifford C. Houk and Richard Post. Please do not sue.

p align="center" "The viscosity of a liquid refers to its resistance to flow."

-From _Chemistry Concepts and Problems /p  
  
_

The next morning is much more rushed than the previous one, though not much smoother. I am ever so thankful that the school uniform includes knee-high socks.

At least I get out on the right side of the bed. I shower quickly, eat the breakfast again left on my bed, and sit patiently on my bed, bag and wand ready this time, for someone to lead me to class. It is my favorite person again: Snape.

"I see you're on time today," he sneers.

_I see you're knickers are still in a knot_, I think crossly, saying nothing.

We leave to Judith's cheery, "Have a good day at school, Madeline."

I think there is some sarcasm in this remark.

We are both quiet this morning as Snape escorts me to class. I bump into no one in the halls and Snape continues to snap at students in the hall. I don't know why they don't tell the Professor to bugger off. I want to tell him it's too damn early to yell.

He drops me off in front of my Arithmancy class. "Good day, Miss Philips."

How nice. He's trying to make an Effort today; I'd wonder why, but it's too early to think about ulterior motives.

I march into Arithmancy half hoping my reputation precedes me, half hoping it doesn't.

Luckily the professor notices me almost as soon as I come in, shakes my hand, and introduces herself.

"I'm Professor Vector. Nice to have a new student. I'm afraid you'll have to sit near the back, the class isn't that large, but...."

She leads me to my seat at the back and leaves me there. I suppose it's rather nice of her to care and all, but why would it matter if I sat near the front? It's not as though I have problems seeing.

To give my hands something to do, I pull out parchment and quill from my bag, listening to all the quiet conversations around me resume after the initial silence upon my entrance. Some are talking about Quidditch practice, some are talking about the homework assigned last night, and some are talking about what they plan to do after classes.

I give a silent sigh and wish I had someone to talk to.

"Hey you, Madeline."

I turn my head slowly to the right. _That voice sounds familiarly unpleasant...._

"Ye-es?" I reply cautiously.

"Make it through Ancient Runes?"

_Ah, the Girl from Ancient Runes_.

"Yes, actually. Thanks."

"Well, there's no one to help you in here."

She is beginning to get on my nerves. "You just have a naturally sunny disposition, don't you?"

She is feeling clever and answers my question with another question.

"Why are you here Madeline Philips? What are you doing here, starting mid-term?"

I fail to see the correlation to _my_ question. I decide ignoring her would be the best course to take. I turn my head forward, pretending I can stare at a fixed point on the wall. I can hear That Bitch from Ancient Runes chuckling at my discomfort. My hands grip the sides of my desk and I wish class would start.

"Everyone, today we are beginning the Greek Method. I hope you all read chapter four of th' book, as I suggested." Vector's voice is soft but firm, and has a lilting quality to it. I might try to guess if this lilt is Irish in quality, but she has arrested my attention on the words "read chapter four."

_I am so screwed._

Vector's telling us to get out our books to look at an example. I pull mine out and begin to open it before I realize the futility of this exercise. With a humorless face, I close my book quietly, but stare ahead as though I am paying attention. The professor moves through the problem, marking with a piece of chalk (I do not know if Vector is actually holding it) repeating aloud all the steps, most likely for my benefit. I copy them down with my bewitched quill to the best of my ability. I fear there is going to be little understanding on my part as long as I can't see the actual problem.

Vector gives us some problems to work on until the end of class, and then assigns us more to do as homework. I suffer in silence, not willing to let tears of frustration threaten my appearance of composure. I can only work part way through the first problem. I wish I had paid more attention in my mother's lessons on Greek. _And all this time I thought she taught it to me from mere nostalgia from the days spent in Crete with my father before and after their marriage when he hadn't known she was a witch. _ A book closes sharply to my left and I hear That Bitch from Ancient Runes say in a whisper, presumably to a nearby classmate, though loud enough for me to hear, "Finished! Those were easier than Vector was letting on."

My grip tightens on my quill.

Time passes, and I hear books snap shut around me and the scratching of quills go quiet. I have moved on to problem number two, but again I can only get so far. The bell rings, and Vector raises her voice for the first time over the noise of school paraphernalia being put away, "Put the problems on my desk as you leave."

Everyone files out quickly around me as I stoically, purposefully, and methodically put away my things. _It's only the first day_, I tell myself, _it's only the first day. _I stand up and sling my bag over my shoulder and walk, calmly I imagine, up to the front and hand my parchment to Professor Vector.

She takes it from my hands. "Hmmm," a noise coming from between pursed lips. She does not sound pleased.

I walk swiftly to my left for the door, wanting to avoid any further censure. I run straight into a solid body and stumble backwards ungracefully.

"You must think about where you are going." Of course Snape knows better than to tell me to watch where I am going. "I have come to escort you to Advanced Transfiguration. Come along. Good day Professor Vector."

Professor Vector murmurs intelligibly, and I'm afraid she is still brooding over my half-assed attempt at today's assignment. I am thankful when Snape grabs me by the arm and takes me out of the classroom.

I am marched down the always crowded hallway. A few students brush past me today. Perhaps it is because Snape is not yelling at anyone. We go down two flights of stairs, one of them moving, before arriving at Transfiguration.

"Door," Snape murmurs, but I still bang my knuckles on the frame.

_That's some damn solid stone._

"Ah, Professor Snape. And this must be Madeline Philip," a strong, clear voice, a dignified voice, greets us as we enter the quiet room.

"Yes, ma'am," I say nervously and hold out a hand.

"I am Professor McGonagall. I'm curious to see how you will do. We are working on partial transfigurations with animals. I hope you have studied some of this?"

"Yes," I reply faintly. My mother and I had _studied_ partial transfigurations, but as to _practical_ applications, I had done only a little.

"I'm sure she can manage," Snape intervenes. I can't believe something resembling a compliment just came out of his mouth. On the other hand, this may be cruel irony rearing its ugly head. "I must get to my own class. Good day, Minerva."

"Yes. Good day, Severus." I cannot hear Snape as he walks away. Professor McGonagall speaks to me again, "There is an empty seat three rows back. I'll take you to it."

"Thank you." I find the very presence of my Transfiguration teacher intimidating. She takes me to my seat and leaves me there.

Once she is back at the front of the class she starts the day's lesson. She has no need to tell the class to be quiet, she is one of those teachers with the Power. I believe I have shrunk in my seat a few inches.

She continues the lesson by reviewing the basics of partial transfiguration, reminding the students of the common mistakes in the first attempt at partial transfiguration where they turned part of a worm into a centipede. "Today," she announces, "We will move onto something harder—transfiguring a sparrow's body into a wren's body."

I can hardly keep myself from groaning. I haven't been here for the past few days. I don't know anything about birds. I have taken no notes on their similarities and differences. Is a wren bigger than a sparrow? Smaller? Are their colors similar? What about their bone structure? The only thing keeping me from banging my head on the desk is the fear of drawing more unwanted attention to myself.

The sparrows are passed around, apparently drugged, "So they won't suffer undue panic at our attempts to change their bodies," McGonagall said. They waltz unsteadily across our desks, making tiny tapping noises with their feet. I reach out tentatively with my finger to feel for my bird. It runs chest first into my index finger and bounces off like a rubber ball. The tapping goes on for a few more seconds and then there is a noise like_ fwump_—the sound of a very cushioned fall. I reach out with my wand and poke blindly before hitting upon the soft form of my sparrow. It hardly twitches at the nudges I give. I think they have given mine too much Dulling Draught.

_At least I won't have to worry about watching it to make sure it doesn't saunter drunkenly downwards off my desk._

McGonagall, feeling benevolence, or more likely pity, for the daunting task before us, tells us we can use any notes we have taken on the bone structure of the wren, and use diagrams to help us with the transfiguration. I have to choke back a laugh.

After a storm of rustling papers, the class settles down and sets about partially transforming their stoned birds. I stare blankly ahead, wondering what to do. I will _not_ ask for help. Everyone seems to think I can manage, so why shouldn't I?

But first, I need to have some idea of what I am working with. I poke my sparrow again, this time with my finger, and move my fingers over it, trying to determine some sort of shape. It is very round and about the size of my palm, with a short, thick beak and tail. Next, I set about trying to remember what a wren looks like. The name sounds familiar enough, so surely I'd seen one before.

I close my eyes, and set my mind traveling back to times when my mother had pointed out the local fauna, which wasn't much in London, to me as a child. Surely she had pointed out something as common as a wren.

_"Look Maddy," my mother says, "look. A bird's built herself a little nest outside our kitchen window." She hoists me up onto the counter and lets me sit on the edge of the sink, twisting so I can see the nest the bird built. "Let's watch and see if the mother bird comes back soon." _

_ After a few minutes the mother bird returns, she is small, as big as my hand spread out, brown and round. My mother and I sit as still as possible, and the bird does not heed us. Instead she looks for a place to put the bit of hair or fur she carries in her beak to insulate the eggs nestled there. She finds the right place, and after a few minutes of adjusting, she flies off again._

_ "That was a wren, Maddy. See those little brown speckled eggs? They are going to hatch, and we're going to have a whole family of birds."_

_I nod my head, but I am still curious. "Does a wren's feather have magical properties like a phoenix feather does?" _

_We had noticed my magical tendencies a year prior, and my mother had slowly been indoctrinating me about many wizarding things, mostly when my father was not around. This past week she had showed me her wand and explained about the unicorn hair inside, the wood it was made of, and how each wand was different for each wizard or witch, and could be made out of things besides unicorn's hair. Like dragon heartstrings. Or phoenix feathers. The concept of phoenixes, which were reborn again and again, had fascinated me._

_My mother's head snaps fearfully to look over her shoulder and I follow her gaze with my own steady one. _

_My father. He stands in the doorway, his face dark, chewing on the inside of his lip. "Charlotte," he says curtly to my mother, and spinning around he disappears down the hall, with only the slamming of the parlor door to mark his distemper._

_My mother looks at me with eyes I cannot read, releases her supportive hold of me on the counter's edge, and follows my father out. I stay where I am for a while, quietly staring at the empty doorway. Finally, I slip off the counter and head to my room, which, at this time, is still downstairs with my parents. Later, it would become the entertainment center for my father's friends and co-workers._

_I do not bother to listen at the door of the parlor to my parent's discussion. I had heard it enough in the past year, in and out of my immediate hearing. It's about me, and the discord I have caused in my father's perfect and harmonious life._

I open my eyes quickly, and the sounds of magical learning fill my ears. I must admit I grab at my sparrow rather viciously, still thinking of my father, and gripping my wand with my other hand, trying to picture the wren in my mind.

I hold the picture of the plump, brown wren in my mind, while also trying to hold my idea of the bird's skeletal structure based on bast biology courses. I set the bird down, knowing that holding something you're transfiguring can be dangerous. I wave my wand, thankful that I am at least positive on _that_ part of the assignment thanks to my mother, and say the magic words.

I wait a moment. _Did it work?_ I reach out and touch the bird to see if I can tell any difference in the body shape by feel. I can't.

_So what am I supposed to do now? Ask my neighbor, "Hey, does this look like a half-wren to you?_ I imagine myself shoving a cataleptic bird in the imaginary neighbors face and their look of disgust and contempt. _Hm, don't think that would go over well...._

My thoughts end abruptly as McGonagall announces a student has very nearly gotten the partial transfiguration of sparrow to wren under control.

"Not bad Mr. Patton. You successfully changed the body structure, but you failed to change the feathers and markings of the sparrow to that of the wren. You must concentrate more on the detail. Make sure you have a very clear picture before you go ahead with the partial transfiguration. Well, everyone, don't stand around! Go about your work. We still have a quarter of an hour."

I turn from looking in the direction of the professor's voice back to where my bird lies, hopefully still incapacitated, on my desk. I'm too nervous to ask a student how my progress is, much less Professor McGonagall's help. I sigh very audibly.

Someone must have heard me and looked over at me because a short scream follows my moan. I twitch slightly and sit very still, wondering what it was all about. I find out shortly.

"Really! Miss Maddox, what is it?" I hear Professor McGonagall marching towards us on the stone. Around me, I hear classmates gasp and make quiet exclamations around me: "Merlin!" "Oh my..." "Good lord!" "What did she _do_ to it?" I can feel the pressure of eyes on me.

_I wish they were all blind._

"_What_ is the matter Miss—!" The professor cuts off abruptly and makes a strange noise like a strangled gasp.

Around me the class murmurs a blur of words, and I unconsciously hold my breath until I start seeing bright colors where darkness has become the norm.

"Miss Phillips," Professor McGonagall finally says faintly.

My hands are shaking so I grip my robes under the desk. "Yes?" I reply just as faintly.

"Your bird...."

My knuckles go white from clutching my robes so tightly. _What have I done?_

She clears her throat, and appears to regain some composure. Very softly, she says, "Miss Phillips, I'm afraid your bird is quite...deformed."

I feel all the blood leave my face from horror and embarrassment over what I have done. I open my mouth to try and say something, an apology maybe, but nothing comes out.

Professor McGonagall quietly undoes the spell and takes my poor bird away from me. I am not to be trusted with small animals. I have totally and one hundred percent screwed up my partial transfiguration attempt.

Around me comments swirl as people reluctantly follow the professors order to return to work.

"Did you see the way it's head was twisted?"

"What about its feet? One was bigger than the other."

"Its eyes were the nastiest—all bulging and pale."

"What is the new girl's problem?"

"What the hell did she do to make it turn out so, so _wrong_?"

"Looked like something from the pits of the Forbidden Forest."

"Look at her, she looks as off as that bird did."

At that last comment I bury my head in my arms and spend the rest of the class period biting my lip so I won't cry from humiliation. I don't emerge until the bell rings and everyone has left the room except someone talking about books for extra reading with the professor. Then I grab my bag, and stand up as quickly as possible to avoid a confrontation with Professor McGonagall. I stumble up the row gracelessly, orient myself to where I think the door is, and walk towards it only to run into wall. I follow it northward, find the doorway and exit.

Out in the hall by myself, the student body swarms around me, and I panic for half a second before scolding myself on being ridiculous, and, keeping my hand on the wall, trace my way slowly as far away from the transfiguration classroom as possible. _ Don't care where I'm going. Just far, far away from the bad place._ _Maybe I'll get lost_, I think hopefully.

I keep walking, slow and shuffling, along the wall, past the crowd of classmates, whose roar gets further and further away as I go. I step up on unfamiliar staircases and let them turn whatever way they will before I disembark. I walk until my stomach nudges out some of my humiliation to vie for attention. Then I remember it's lunch time now, and I'm missing it.

_I don't care_, I think rebelliously_. I'm not that hungry anyway!_ My stomach growls in protest. _Okay, that's a lie_, I admit to my stomach. _ Can't face those people. Can't face them talking about me, around me, behind me. Can't face the stares I can't return, the eyes I can't see._

I'm only depressing myself further thinking about my blindness, and I decide that if I'm going to have a proper mope, I might as well find a comfortable corner or alcove to do it in, rather than make my feet sore.

It's a good ten minutes before I find my corner by—surprise, surprise—bumping into it and hitting my nose. "Ow," I grumble before throwing down my bag and squeezing myself as far back into the corner as possible. I lean my head into the corner and close my eyes out of habit, and try to sort through my feelings of frustration, anger, sadness, hurt, humiliation, and just plain worry.

My mother would have been worried and disappointed.

_That's nothing new. _

And my father would have laughed bitterly and said that I had failed just as fantastically at being abnormal as I had at being normal.

_But who cares about him?_

Why couldn't I do things right? Would I have to depend on Silas to help me with all my homework.

_I depend on no one._

Snape would be unhappy with me and probably tell Dumbledore I was unfit to be a student at Hogwarts. It's not like I had ever been on the list in the first place.

_But how do I know what Snape will think? Will he even care?_

The deformed bird. I can see it in my head. Something grotesque and twisted. Something out of a nightmare. The image keeps appearing in the blackness behind my eyelids, and it makes me want to cry to think I had done something so horrible to an innocent creature, even if it was not intentional. My heart shivers.

I sit in the dark corner with my dark thoughts, until I inadvertently nod off to sleep.

A patronizing voice wakes me with the word, "Crying?"

A scowl forms slowly on my face. "I am _not_," I snap my eyes open on this word, although it makes no difference, "crying Professor Snape. It is not one of my habits."

_Self depreciation is_, a voice in my head whispers, and I put it aside.

"Then what, pray, are you doing in a dark corner, far away from any room you belong in?"

"Napping." I reply truthfully.

"Then you're rested enough to come quickly with me to your Advanced Potions lesson, which starts in ten minutes. I trust you'll do better in my class than in your last one."

I pause, halfway standing, and cringe. _I will ignore his taunt. I will not rise to it. He will not get the better of me._

Thankfully, he says nothing more, but takes my arm and leads me quickly, as promised, to my potions lesson.

I am screwing up my last remnant of courage and pride as we race through crowded halls of students. We fly down staircase after staircase, heading straight for the dungeons where Snape's class is located.

Snape wastes no time upon entering the classroom. Still dragging me on his arm, he snaps, "Quiet everyone! We cannot waste time if I am going to get you slightly less intellectually challenged seventh years ready for your N.E.W.T. exams."

I really wish he wouldn't be such a charismatic chap whenever I am at his side, I'm afraid it might rub off on me. He leads me to a front seat and leaves me there, hardly breaking stride, to continue somewhere in front of me to lecture us briefly on the brewing of today's potion.

_God_, I say in my head, _I know I don't talk to You often, but could You make this a potion I've at least _heard_ of? _

"If you have done your reading and haven't been sleeping through class for the past few days—"He pauses, and I'm sure he's staring pointedly at a student, "—you will know that today's potion isn't a particularly hard one for an _advanced _student." His tone of voice implied his doubt of our academic prowess. "Today we are making a pain numbing potion, the Lethargian Brew to be exact."

I breathe a sigh of relief as I recognized the name. The Lethargian Brew, a numbing potion of moderate potency.

"After I take a sample, I will send it on to Madam Pomfrey. If any you fail it will make things even worse next time you visit infirmary, which will no doubt will be very soon for some of you." Another pause and I'm sure he is giving the class another good sneer. "Well? What are you waiting for? Get to work!"

I hear rustling around me as everyone scurries to do Snape's bidding. I remain in my seat, uncertain of what to do. Should I go grab my cauldron? Where is it? Where is the storage room with all the potions ingredients?

"Do you need help, Miss Philips?" Snape's voice says over my head, and quite frankly I can't tell if he's being sarcastic or serious.

"Um, actually, yes. Where's my cauldron and the store room so I can get the ingredients I need."

"So you know the ingredients to this potion, do you?"

"Yes. Sir."

"Your cauldron is in the back of the room. It's the only one left so it should be easy to run into." I did not like Snape's sarcasm as much as Judith's. "I will have one of the students bring back extra ingredients from the store room. Cleckley! Go fetch some extra ingredients for Miss Philips here."

There is no answer, but I assume the student is fetching it as Snape says nothing more, and I feel a slight breeze as he whips past me to go breathe down the necks of my classmates.

Unwillingly I stand up from my seat and start to feel my way down the aisle. I bump my way into several cauldrons, and nearly trip over some feet only to steady myself on the edge of a hot cauldron. "Ouch!" I draw my hand back quickly; there are titters all around. My cheeks go red again.

"Get your cauldron and get back to your seat Miss Philips." Snape's voice holds a warning.

I scowl.

"I'm watching you, Miss Philips."

I grit my teeth to keep from scowling again and keep moving back towards the cauldrons. I reach the stone back wall and head right in search of my cauldron. As I am walking, one hand on the wall, the other out in front in hopes I would not fulfill Professor Snape's prediction and run into it, I run into somebody instead.

"Sorry," I mutter. _ Can't they watch where they're going?_ I think.

"Excuse me," says a refined voice. Then, whispering quietly so that I hardly catch it, still in the same formal tone, "I would go left if I were you." A robe brushes past my legs and the mystery person passes on.

I nod and start retracing my steps. One good thing about Snape's strictness is that he keeps the class from watching me. I hear him pacing up and down menacingly and making smart remarks at various students.

I bump into the cauldron backwards and nearly fall in butt first. I quickly regain my balance, however, and look around to see if anyone has noticed only to remember I can't. I push it right, and try to recall how many steps I took to the right, and how many I would need to subtract from going left....

I lose my train of thought as the cauldron makes a very audible _shhh_ as it passes over the stone floor. I pause and wince in embarrassment. But how else am I going to get it to my desk?

_Shhhh. Sh. Shhhhh. Shh. Sh. Shhhhhh._

I consider leaping headfirst into the cauldron and ending the misery formerly known as my life.

_Shh. Shhhhhhh. Sh. Sh. Sh._

I almost want to laugh to break the tension surrounding my obnoxious movement.

_Shhhhhhhhh. Sh. Shh—_

"Oh for Merlin's sake...." Snape cuts me off mid-_shh_. His voice is quiet, but it carries and it is clear he is annoyed. "_Accio cauldron_," he snaps and the cauldron leaves my grasp and presumably travels to the proper place. I am grabbed roughly by the arm and led back to my seat.

_What a caring chap he is._

"Your ingredients are on your table."

I nod. I find that I draw enough attention to myself without opening my mouth.

I turn my attention to the ingredients laid out upon my desk, trying to shake off the feeling that people are looking at me. I should have arrach, some dried black willow leaves, calamus roots, imperatoria root, Jamaican dogwood, spleen of a tree frog, and part of the tail of a unicorn. I felt and found each one except the strand of unicorn tail hair. I suppose Snape would not keep that in the main store room.

Now what came first in the Lethargian potion? Ah, the oil from the calamus roots. I crush them in a bowl with a pestle to extract the juice. Then I pour it into my measuring flask, thankful for once that I had inherited my mother's old one with the numbers in raised glass instead of painted on. I stick one finger down in the fluid and do my best to guess which raised number it is lined up with.

I could care less if I screw this up. I am blind and I will not ask for help.

The arrach is minced, the imperatoria root grated, dried black willow leaves crushed finely, and the frog spleen is added whole to stew in the mess for awhile while I divide the bark of the Jamaican dogwood into even cubes. They will be added last, after the unicorn hair.

As though reading my thoughts, Professor Snape's voice cuts into my concentration and announces, "As some of you are at the point where the addition of a unicorn hair is needed, I will distribute them among you. There is one unicorn hair for every four of you. Share it with the person sitting next to you, and the two people behind you."

_I'm sharing a table?_ I think. _You learn something new every second._

I finish chopping up cubes, and then stir my potion a little as I wait for Snape to come by with the unicorn hair. _I wish I could see if it is the proper color. _

"Ah, Miss Philips, I see you have progressed this far with no major mishap. Be careful with that knife," Professor Snape says, and glides past, presumably leaving behind a tail hair.

"Er. Would you like me to cut it into pieces?" A voice next to me says nervously. They are probably terrified that a blind person is wielding a knife.

Any other time I would have demanded I cut it, to ensure utter perfection and precision regarding my potion, but I'm not sure how well I could apportion a single unicorn tail hair without seeing what I was doing. I nod my consent.

A moment later, "Here."

I feel the slight tickle of unicorn hair by my right hand, and take it gently between thumb and forefinger. I can see the page from _Precise Potions_ clearly in my mind: "_Take the quartered unicorn hair and dip it slowly into the potion so that the potency of the unicorn hair will not be used up all at once and make it useless later after one treatment_."

I follow the directions to the letter, and let it set while I gather the dogwood cubes into my hand.

_Now how many cubes did it require? Ten? Yes, ten. I'm pretty sure it's ten._

I drop the cubes one by one, like I'm supposed to, into the simmering cauldron. Ten. I lean back and let some of the tension drop from my shoulders. At least I have accomplished _one _thing today properly.

BOOM!

Screams. I cringe away from the noise and am splattered heavily with gooey substance. Before I can even form a thought, parts of my body began going numb: the left side of my face my right arm and parts of both legs. I can feel it seeping into my shoes. As the dead feeling sets in, I wonder how much longer I'll be able to stand.

"Everyone calm down! Miss Philips what did you put in that potion to make it explode?" Snape is standing over me, his presence menacing my standing form.

"Nothing," I say a little awkwardly. I have ceased to feel my jaw and cheek. _Ah, well, Maddy_, I console myself,_ at least the bruises won't bother you anymore. _I begin to list the ingredients I had added, out of habit from past potions-exploding experiences with my mother. "...and ten cubes of Jamaican dogwood." I finish calmly, sure of my innocence. Someone had probably thrown something into my cauldron as a welcome-the-new-blind-girl prank.

"_Ten_? _Ten_ Miss Philips? Ten cubes of Jamaican dogwood is not the correct amount," Snape says coldly. "_Nine_ is the correct number of Jamaican dogwood cubes." He turns to the class. "It's nothing to worry about, class. You _should_ know that if you have come in contact with the Lethargian Brew externally, all you need to do is go to the back of the classroom and wash it off." He turns back to me. "_You_ Miss Philips had better start cleaning up the mess you've made."

The numbness has set completely into patches on my legs as well as both my feet, and without feeling I cannot stand any longer. I drop abruptly and unceremoniously, and barely land in my seat.

I think the potion has paralyzed my emotions as well because I feel no shame, anger, or frustration as I sit there in my seat, being eaten up by my mistake. I sit limply in my desk while my classmates move around me, muttering quietly. My senses are dulled too; I can't hear them talk about me at all.

The bell rings and the class empties. I sit in the quiet until Snape interrupts my thoughts, "Well Miss Philips, you had better start cleaning."

My shoulders slump with an inward sigh. I pull my wand from my robe tiredly and point it out towards the room. "Scourgify!" I say sternly.

"Fifty points—"Snape begins, then stops. I have no clue what he is talking about. "Miss Philips, you will serve detention Friday. You will be making several batches of the potion you just ruined."

I could care less. I nod once to show I heard and stand up slowly, shouldering my bag.

"I will put your cauldron back to avoid more mishaps."

I shrug.

"If you go right out the door and continue, you will find your room."

"Thanks," I mutter intelligibly, and walk out the door.

I stumble down the quiet hall as the movement brings a tingling sensation to my numb legs. _At least I made a good, strong potion._

I feel the scratchy fabric of the tapestry and grab it, letting it support me as my legs attempt to give out from underneath me again. I steady myself again, wrench back the curtain, and fall hard on my knees. I whimper, but manage not to scream.

I had expected Judith to greet me with some sarcastic comment or another, but either she is shocked, doesn't want to know, or is not in the room, because silence is the only answer. I throw off my bag, and hear it thump the desk and make it shudder. _At least I'll be able to find it later._

I crawl my way around the bed, grazing it with my head, and make it to the doorway of the bathroom, crawl over the tile towards the tub, and collapse next to it. I lay there for awhile simply because there's something soothing about a cool tile floor and no noise.

When the chill finally starts getting to me I sit up, bumping my elbow against the tub painfully. I rub it before leaning over and turning on the facet. I strip down as quickly as possible, making quite a splash when I heave myself over the edge and pretty much fall into the tub.

I sigh, a long release, as the tingling feeling in my legs becomes almost unbearable as the potion comes off. I then realize I should probably be draining the tub instead of stopping it unless I want to take a bath in slightly anesthetic water. I let the tub empty, and then rotated myself so I sat under the stream of water and scrubbed myself with a washcloth that had been conveniently left folded over the edge of the tub.

After the pseudo-bath, and with feeling restored in all my limbs, I change into comfort clothes—a pair of jeans filled with holes, a tank top, and sweatshirt—and collapse on my bed to wallow in my pity. My thoughts are like a drug, and I fall asleep.

"Madeline. Maddy."

Someone is gently shaking my shoulder. My mother hasn't woken me up in years....

"Get up Maddy."

Thoughts seep slowly and groggily towards my brain. The first to arrive is, _You're pretending to be dead, remember?_ Followed by, _Your mother is dead_, _You've had the one of the worst days you can remember_, and _That's Silas trying to wake you up_.

I grunt in a very unladylike manner that would have disgusted my father. Silas is now poking me in the side to get me to rise. I try to force my brain to grasp on to the receding darkness of sleep. Silas keeps poking me, almost tickling. I swat blindly (_Haha_) at him.

"_Not_ getting up," I grunt incoherently.

"Get up and stop moping. I already know you had a horrible day because Judith told me. Now get up, we have stuff to do." I sit up quickly. "Hm, I wasn't expecting _that_ to work...."

I snap open my eyes and the blackness is the same blackness of sleep, only a lot less comforting. "And what business of Judith's is it?" I say sharply in the direction of the portrait.

"She isn't here," Silas replies patiently. "She left after she told me what happened. She didn't want to be around when you woke up cross."

"That could have been avoided if you hadn't woken me. Or if she had kept her mouth shut, for that matter."  
"Then you tell me about your day."

"Why bother when it's been done for me?"

"You'll feel better."

I scowl.

"You really are an exasperating child."

"Did I mention I love being referred to as a child?"

Silas laughs as he sits down on the bed next to me. "All right, all right. I'm sorry. But if you're going to act like a child...."

"Then I'll act like a child," I reply crossly.

He grows serious suddenly. "Come. We have work to do."

I sigh heavily, all my anger evaporating. "What are we doing?" I deadpan.

"Homework first."

"Silas," I moan. "I want to sleep, much less think." I fall back onto my pillows.

Silas says nothing, which surprises me. Instead, he gets off the bed. A minute later he has grasped my ankles firmly and is dragging me towards the edge of the bed. I claw at the comforter with no luck, so instead I wriggle my ankles free from his grasp and jump onto the steady floor.

"All right, all right. Impatient, aren't we?"

"I would find my self to be considerably patient. Now go to your desk and get your homework out."

I sigh again, shoulders sagging. Then I promptly straighten myself up and feel my way slowly to my desk, hitting my big toe only slightly on its corner. I bend down and pick up my bag and set it on top before sitting in the chair. I pull out my Arithmancy book with a_ thump_ and wait.

Silas pulls up a chair beside me, I hear it creak as he sits down.

"Wait a minute! Where did you get a chair?"

"I made one," he admits. "You should know this Maddy. I thought you were raised by wizards anyway." He tries to keep the curiosity out of his voice.

"Witch," I correct. "My mother was a witch. My father was...not." I shut my mouth. I do not want to discuss either.

"Ah," is all Silas says. "So what about arithmancy?" he prompts me after a moment.

"How," I say, "am I supposed to do my work when I can't even see to read the book? Plus, I came in right in the middle of a lesson about the Greek Method, or something. She talked about having done the reading, and I had no idea of course. I mean, Kauno did some spell on my book so I could feel the shape of the runes. What am I supposed to do?" I say in one big jumble, barely keeping my temper in line by the end.

"Hm. That is a tough one. I know the charm Kauno used, but I don't know if that would work for the English language. Runes are easy to identify by touch if you already know them all, but the tiny print in your arithmancy book would be a different matter. It would be a waste of time to teach you Braille, since you are a good candidate for getting your sight back with the Anticaecus potion, so...I guess I'll just have to read your lessons to you. Do you know what your next lesson will be?"

Reading my assignments to me? I'm not sure how good of an audio learner I am. I tend to fall asleep in my classes. Well, except chemistry, but the smell of chemicals is enough to keep anyone awake. I absorb all this information before answering.

"I don't know. He didn't say."

"All right then. Tonight we'll read about that Greek Method you were talking about, and tomorrow you can ask Vector what you're doing in class on Friday so we can read up on it if we need to tomorrow night."

I make a face. "And how do you propose I find his class?"

"That will be our orientation lesson for tonight. After we finish your homework."

"Damn, I was hoping you'd forget," I deadpan.

Silas takes the book from in front of me, and I hear a quiet, papery noise as he thumbs through the pages to find the chapter on the Greek Method.

"Righto. Here we are. And don't you dare fall asleep on me, or I'll add another bruise to the fine collection on your shins."

I cringe in embarrassment, realizing he can see the black and blue through one of the holes in my jeans, before replying, "Abuse of the handicapped, sir! I'll have you arrested!"

"Not if I run away, and then you can't describe the man who hurt you."

"Amata was right. _Is_ health care the right profession for you?"

"Come now, we're getting sidetracked. Chapter ten," he begins, "The Greek Method."

We spend the next hour doing arithmancy homework, and I do the assigned problems with a lot more confidence than I had in class.

Silas doesn't mention what had happened in transfiguration thankfully, merely suggests that we work on my wand movements, and we practice that for another half hour. After awhile, Silas announces that I shouldn't have any more problems with that spell. I haven't the heart to tell him that I think my problem lies more in the fact that I can't see what I'm transfiguring than the wand pattern. I'll deal with that problem as it occurs.

"And any potions homework?" Silas queries innocently.

"No." I say shortly.

"Don't feel bad. You were doing marvelous until a relapse in memory made you slip up a bit."

"A bit? You didn't have to stumble down the hall with numb legs."

"Numb legs?"

"It was a numbing potion. At least my legs weren't sore for awhile."

"Maybe," Silas begins thoughtfully, "maybe tomorrow evening you can learn your way around Snape's classroom. It would be a good one to begin with, since his class is the one you will most likely be moving around in. I'll just have to get permission first...."  
"Well that won't do us any good. When he bites your head off for daring to breathe his same air, neither of us will be able to see where we're going."

Silas chuckles and says, "I'm not a student anymore. I'm sure we can talk adult to adult."

"He's far from acting like an adult, picking on people."

"Don't judge a man until you really know him. _I_ don't really know him. Sure he doesn't have the most magnetic personality, but maybe he only talks civilly to people he knows well, maybe he's insecure, maybe someone killed his kitten as a child."

_Maybe he has a stick up his arse_, I think but don't vocalize.

"Hmph. You sound like my mother: glazing over the truth. Besides you can afford to be generous because you don't have to deal with him on a regular basis."

Laughing, Silas says, "You're right. Now go put on your robe or something so we can roam the halls and keep you relatively out of trouble."


	4. Reactants

"The substance or substances that are the starting materials in a chemical reaction are called reactants and are located on left side of a chemical equation."

-From _Chemistry Concepts and Problems_

"But below the surface, the currents of protest and reform that had boiled up in the past decade still ran strong. They would soon surface again."

Silas stops reading and closes the thick history of magic book and stares at me, sitting across from him in the long, wide, curved window sill. Barely paying attention, I am gazing out the window, one cheek propped on my fist which in turn rests on my knee. There is frost forming on the widows and a draft, but I don't notice. I move my other hand and press my fingertips against the cold windowpane.

"No, keep going. You're getting to the interesting part. Don't stop, I'm listening," I murmur, speech impaired because I don't move my jaw from my hand.

"That's the end of the chapter, Maddy," Silas says with a hint of exasperation in his voice.

"Oh."

I turn from staring out the window to Silas.

"You have a quiz tomorrow over this chapter," he reminds me.

I shrug.

"How am I going to take it anyhow? It'll be on paper and I can't see it, so it won't matter if I don't know the answers."

"Binns's going to give the quiz half an hour before class; he'll read you the questions. So don't forget to be there."

I give an impatient jerk against the stone wall. _Being blind is really a huge pain in the ass_, I think.

As if reading my thoughts, Silas says, "I know it's an inconvenience for you."

"That's an understatement," I deadpan, and glare out the window, not seeing the scattered snowflakes lazily floating to the frozen, already snow-covered ground.

"You have your first treatment in two days. Things will get better. You're already learning your way about the school," Silas replies, trying to change the subject.

Shrugging again, I begin tapping my fingernail on the glass. I now turn and rest my forehead against the glass, and will myself to see the images I know were right in front of me, but out of reach. A picture of two figures walking through the snow that must lay below pops into my mind, a tall figure holding the hand of a much smaller one.

"How high up are we?" I ask idly.

"Trying to catch a cold, Miss Philips? Mr. Wells? You should behave more responsibly towards your patients, Mr. Wells." Professor Snape's voice cuts in before Silas can answer my question.

Neither of us had heard his approach, and I find his sneaky appearance annoying, so I answer his question quickly.

"I asked Mr. Wells if we could study here because the freezing draft keeps me from falling asleep while he reads me my lessons."

"If it will help you in your classes then I can't complain," Professor Snape replies smoothly. "You need all the help you can get."

I turn my head away and scowl at the glass so he can't see me. _Why should he care how I'm doing in my classes anyway?_

"Are you finished for the night, Mr. Wells?" Snape asks.

"I suppose so," Silas replies with some hesitation.

"Very well, then. I have some work to do with Miss Philips myself, so I will escort her back to her room."

"All right, then. See you tomorrow for your first treatment, Madeline." I hear him slide off the stone and stand.

"Bye, Silas," I mutter at the window, as he turns and walks away.

Maybe Professor Snape has decided that Friday night would be as good a night as any to start on Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons. _Do people here ever do anything besides school work?_

I slide slowly off the stone ledge, wishing I could go to bed instead of spend the evening with Professor Snape. I had never spent my Friday nights as pseudo-Muggle like this. Witches had magic; weren't they supposed to have more fun?

We are soon tracing the familiar steps to Snape's dungeon classroom.

"Are you ready to clean cauldrons by hand, Miss Philips?"

A look of confusion crosses my face before I remember that I had, in fact, gotten detention earlier this week. For once, a rare once, I am relieved I have the excuse of being blind so someone could fetch me for things like this, my mind is so full of everything else going on I would have forgotten and received additional detention.

"Surely you haven't forgotten your earlier mishap among all your others?"

"No, sir," I reply coolly, refusing to rise to his bait. _What_ is _his problem anyway?_

"They are lined up and waiting for you. You will need to get water from the faucet in the at the back of the room. Sponges are in their usual place. Here is the soap," a large glass vial is placed in my hands, "you will not be leaving until they pass my inspection."

I say nothing and walk towards the cauldrons, feeling for them with my hands outstretched. To my left the line would reach the corner of the back wall, so to my right I would find the beginning of this line of cauldrons. _Twisted bastard, making me clean cauldrons._ I had since learned that magic was strictly forbidden in the corridors between classes, and definitely not in potions class to clean up after oneself.

Biting back a sigh, I head to the back to fill up one of the many buckets surrounding the wall-fountain that are used to tote water to cauldrons already filled with ingredients. I fill cauldron after cauldron half full with water then dump in some of the cleaning solution to let it set for awhile as I move down the line. I don't bother to count, as it will only depress me.

To get the sponges in the supply room I cross in front of Professor Snape's desk, where I hear him scratching away on parchment. _Probably grading papers_. He doesn't pause as I pass, nor when I return sponge in hand.

The scrubbing begins as I bend over the first cauldron. This one smells of burnt eucalyptus and mink fat; some beginner clearly had not added enough water to their simple burn salve. It only gets worse as I progress down the line; apparently the Potions Master has not had his beginning potions classes clean their cauldrons this week to save them for my punishment.

I am bending over yet another cauldron, this one relatively less dirty than most of the others. This one is quite deep, so I am nearly cut in two as I scratch with my fingernail at some stubborn gunk at the bottom. Finally, I manage to scrape it off in a long, sticky strip. _Ewww._ I bring it close to my face to sniff the offending object carefully, ignoring my chemistry teacher's firm instruction about smelling foreign objects, especially of the chemical kind. The metallic-like smell of blood, with a peculiar scent of dust or sand.

"Professor?" calls a voice from the other end of the room.

I sneeze and immediately hide the hand holding the object inside the cauldron just in case Professor Snape or the unknown voice is looking in my direction.

"Excuse me," I murmur demurely and lean back over the cauldron.

"Excuse me, Professor. I did not realize you had company."

"It is of no consequence. Miss Philips is merely serving her detention."

I scowl into the cauldron before lugging it over to the fountain to rinse it out with fresh water. Judging from the amount of time that took I wasn't too far from the end of my line of cauldrons.

"I was just...."

The voice is lost to my none-to-quiet pushing and the water coming out of the fixture at the back. As it fills, I use the opportunity to pop my back.

_Cripes, I am going to be sore tomorrow. Sore hands, arms, back. My back is killing me. Doesn't this fall under some sort of child labor law?_

I continue cleaning, trying to listen to the conversation inconspicuously. I can't hear anything specifically, just a low rumble of voices. That voice sounds vaguely familiar. It is going to bother me if I don't figure it out.

They are still talking when I finish my last one. _Hadn't that been a good three quarters of an hour ago? _I put my hands under the cool water of the fountain hoping they'll finish so I won't have to interrupt them. Or make an ass of myself. I give up after five minute of running water and no sound of goodnights.

I grimace at the wall, then turn about to walk to the front, feeling my way along the rows of tables. _Why do science classrooms always have tables instead of desks?_

"...all he would like."

"Very well, Mr. Theophilis, I will bear this in mind. Good night," says Professor Snape as I draw nearer. "Ah, Miss Philips, I see you think you are finished."

_Theophilis? Who the hell is that? _I think, giving myself up to being noticed despite my efforts. "Yes, sir," I reply out loud.

I feel the _whoosh_ of air as Snape walks past me to inspect my work and I wait expectantly to hear the Mr. Theophilis leave. Instead he walks towards me.

"Madeline Philips?" queries the fine, smooth voice that I am still trying to place.

"Yes, but I'm afraid I don't know who you are," I reply, sticking out my hand.

"Jude Theophilis."

A pause wherein Jude shakes my hand.

"Are you in any of my classes by any chance?" I venture.

"Yes. We have potions together."

_Great, he's seen me screw up royally_.

"How do you like Hogwarts?" Jude asks.

"I, um, like it. It's different, you know. I was taught magic at home before, but it's nice to be," -_making an ass of myself in front of my peers_- "around other witches and wizards my age. And there are actually students to compete against." I nod my head, finally running out of things to say.

"My father considered teaching me at home also, but Hogwarts is one of the finest wizarding schools in Europe so I ended up here. It will be over soon, though. This is the last year; it will be nice not having school again."

"Oh definitely," I agree, thinking of the detention I had just finished serving and of long hours of having Silas read to me.

I have always been the bookish sort, but I feel as though I've done nothing but study since coming to Hogwarts. There are N.E.W.T.s this year as well, which means I have twice the homework load I would normally have, or so Silas has assured me. I wasn't sparing much worry for the N.E.W.T.s at the moment; I had enough on my mind to worry about. Besides, I had done quite well on the O.W.L.s. Well, not as well in Charms, which was my difficult subject, or in Defense Against the Dark Arts either; my mother had only taught me just what was likely to be on the test and little more.

I still remember the day my mother took me to Diagon Alley to take them. My mother had specially prearranged a time with one of the members of the board, and I had done all the tests in a week and a half, instead of the regular two weeks, taking some of the exams over the weekend. My mother had taken me on the pretense that I had been selected to go on a special science trip at the very end of the school year and she would chaperone. That had been one of the best one and a half weeks of my life, the most time I had ever spent in the wizarding world at one time in my entire life. Walking about Diagon Alley among other witches and wizards, doing magic without fear of being caught...I smile involuntarily.

"It is better than I expected, coming from someone who had little discipline exerted upon her regarding the use of magic before coming here," Snape speaks out of nowhere, startling me and making me realize that Jude is still standing across from me.

I raise one eyebrow, but say nothing; whatever else he seems to know about my past life, he doesn't know about the hours spent cleaning things without magic thanks to my father's phobia of it.

"I will take you back to your room," he adds with little grace.

"Very well," I reply, resigning myself to being inexorably linked with Mr. Popular. "Good night, Jude. Glad to finally know someone in my potions class."

"Mr. Theophilis is extremely talented in potion making," Snape says, his tone implying I do abysmally in his class. "He is near the top of his class."

"Thank you, Professor," he replies deferentially. It was a wonder to me the boy isn't choking at the way Snape was buttering him up; the boy obviously has some class to glide through it like that. "Good night to you both. I will look for you next potions class, Madeline."

I hear his footsteps die away as I wait for Snape to finish something up at his desk before escorting me back to my room. His parting words at the tapestry are, "Don't forget you have your first dose of the Caecus potion early Saturday morning. I expect you to be on time. If not taken within a certain amount of time after removal from the cauldron-"

"It loses it's potency I know," I interrupt irritably. "I've done research on this you know," I feel him staring at me disbelievingly, "with Silas' help," I add defensively. "I don't just trust people to make decisions; especially decisions about me, without being well informed on the issue myself."

There is a silence, and I am afraid I have again crossed the line that will earn me another detention.

"And _that_, Miss Philips, is one of the most intelligent things I have ever heard you utter. Perhaps you are not without hope. Good night, Miss Philips. And please, try to apply your brain to your other school subjects, and not just the ones that specifically involve you. Then, perhaps, people will not wonder what possessed Ollivander's to sell you a wand."

"Glad to have met your approval," I mutter, ignoring him and walking into my room and closing the door behind me, "you enormous git."

Plans for sleeping in on Saturday were shot. I am woken by the creaking of my door and Professor Snape yelling, "Why aren't you up? Your dose of the Caecus potion is this morning in ten minutes! I told you specifically on Thursday about this and yet you still manage to forget, you useless child."

I pull my blankets up closer around my head. I must be having nightmares again. Besides, this Professor Snape masquerading as my father should know that I am wonderfully adept at ignoring someone yelling at me early on Saturday mornings; I'd had seventeen years worth of practice after all. "Five minutes," I mumble into the sheets.

"You do not have five minutes. Get up at once."

The voice is much closer this time and motivates my groggy brain into action. I open my eyes, still unused to the absence of light that greets me.

"Professor?" I say tentatively, prepared to feel like a fool.

"Are you so vapid as to not understand what 'get up' means?"

Hearing his reply made me jump and sit up in bed.

"Eight minutes, Miss Philips! You have wasted two. Get ready immediately; I will meet you outside in the corridor."

A creak as the door closes, and silence.

I practically fall out of bed in my haste to get ready, blankets entangling me. I kick them off and crawl forward to my dresser, searching for clean clothes.

"Judith!" I cry, my voice rising in panic.

No answer.

I swear. She always disappears at the most inopportune times.

Pulling out a pair of jeans and lord knows what kind of t-shirt, I throw my pajamas on the floor. Panties, bra, jeans, t-shirt, hair--_What should I do with my hair_? There is no time to wash it and I don't want to walk into the healing ward with gross, unwashed hair.

Fumbling around on the floor, I discover the handkerchief I had worn the other day upon returning to my room—the dark blue from grade school field day games—grab it, put it on, and walk more or less confidently out the door.

Professor Snape says nothing when I come out, just sniffs, so I assume I have made decent time.

He grabs my arm roughly and proceeds to drag me to the hospital ward at an alarming pace, managing not to run me into anything until I get to the door.

"Hey, Maddy."

I turn my head toward the voice automatically, succeeding in hitting the door frame with my nose.

"Oh bloody-!" I cry before remembering I am with Authority.

Professor Snape sighs and presses some cloth into my other hand. "Hold you nose and tilt your head back slightly, Miss Philips."

I do as I am told and continue onward to a bed, which I sit down on, continuing to hold my nose.

"Oh good heavens! What happened here?" exclaims a high female voice.

"I jub hib by nobe," I reply, but am overridden by Silas' deep voice.

"It was my fault Madam Pomfrey; I made her hit her nose on the doorframe."

"Really Mr. Wells, you should know better," she says, clucking her tongue.

Snape makes no snide remark, so I wonder where he has gone.

I feel Silas' solid weight settle at the foot of my bed and I deem it safe to remove the cloth and feel my nose. No fresh blood, only a little dry, crusted stuff. I sniff the air suddenly.

"Does my sore, bleeding nose deceive me, or is that breakfast I smell in your hand?"

"Your adjectives will elicit no sympathy."

"Well, what can you expect from the cold hearted bastard who did it to me?"

Snape interrupts coldly, "Miss Philips, if I have to warn you about your language one more time there _will be consequences_."

"Yes, sir," I mutter quietly, sitting up straighter in the bed.

"Mr. Wells, you had better not be leaving crumbs on the bed."

"No, sir," Silas replies equably.

They are silent for awhile. Silas finally speaks, and I assume Snape is gone again; he is a quiet bugger when he moves.

"You can't have food anyway, you'll get nauseous. And I would prefer if you did not throw up all over me."

"Why are you here anyway? Professor Snape is quite capable of administering the potion."

"You're my patient," is all he says.

"He will be reading to you from your course books while you lay _perfectly still_ and allow the potion to do its work."

I cannot stop my nose from wrinkling slightly.

"Mr. Wells, would you make yourself useful and put this piece of cloth securely around Miss Philips head?"

"Why?" I demand immediately.

It is Silas who answers, "While the potion is working your eyes are very sensitive. The smallest amount of light could further damage them."

"It can't get any darker," I remark darkly, but allow Silas to tie the cloth about my head.

"Here. Drink the entire glass," Snape says, pressing a goblet into my hand.

I hold it up to my face and sniff it delicately, grimacing.

"Just drink it, Miss Philips, before it ruins," Snape says, exasperated.

"I'm just making sure it isn't poison. Wait a minute. I smell something amiss in here...what is it?"

"I put some basswood flowers in it to relax you just a bit and not make lying down all so terribly trying; this will make you feel like lying down."

I sniff again_. I guess that bitter scent could be the flower of basswood. That means the potion would be bitter as well. Fantastic._

"Oh," I say.

_Whoa. Snape had actually done something kind of...thoughtful._

While trying to wrap my brain around this thought, I open my mouth and swallow the potion as quickly as possible. "Ugh. It tastes the way cleaner smells."

"Lie back and I'll read to you now," Silas says.

"I will check in on your periodically. Let Madam Pomfrey know if there appears to be anything wrong, any bad reaction."

I hear the door to the infirmary close and give a quiet sigh. I could already feel the arrowroot doing its work.

"All right. What do we have today?"

"Arithmancy. You didn't do well on your last quiz."

"There was a time when my grades were my own business."

"Times have obviously changed," he pauses. "That muscle relaxant—the basswood flowers—I'm not sure I've heard of it. I hope it won't make you sleepy."

"No, it won't. Basswood flowers are rarely used because they have negative reactions when mixed with nearly anything." I frown, trying to remember the ingredients list I had read. "I hope this Caecus Potion doesn't have red salamander blood in it—you get the most hideous boils."

"Maddy, how do you know all this stuff? I didn't learn a lot of that kind of stuff until my apprenticeship as a Healer."

"Oh, you know. I read it. I'm beginning to think I'm a better visual learner than audio. But then again, I've never had quite so much on my mind before...." I trail off, realizing I've said a bit too much. I'm obviously beginning to feel comfortable around Silas. "Er, read on, then. Chapter twelve," I say to get off the subject as quickly as possible.

Silas begins reading and time passes slowly. We pass the morning this way and then break for lunch. Or Silas does. I get to sip on pumpkin juice while Silas goes down to the Great Hall for lunch. I had not known that I would be fasting.

"How are your eyes feeling?" he asks before going.

"If they're supposed to burn and ache as though you've stayed up all night studying, then we're okay," I reply, resisting the urge to rub them. In one of the books I had had Silas read to me, he had made perfectly clear, turning what was a passing statement in the book into a near full-on medial lecture, that I was not to touch my eyes at all while the potion was working.

"That's how it feels I'm afraid. I'll bring back something you can eat later this afternoon when the potion has finished its work."

"Thanks," I say half-heartedly as my stomach rumbles.

He leaves and I am by myself, except for Madam Pomfrey who comes out to check on me again right after Silas has left, filling my cup with more pumpkin juice so that I can sip on it all afternoon.

I am wary of moments like these when my thoughts were allowed to roam free: they eventually lead to my mother. I try recalling to mind what Silas had read to me earlier; it would have been so much easier if I had read the words myself, or even watching Silas read them would have helped.

These thoughts are soon overcome by memories of my mother. Some days I miss her more than others. I have realized over the past week how little I had known about my mother. It is almost like I had spent the last seventeen years living with a stranger, one who took care of me, but a stranger none the less. Every time I have tried to recall things about my mother, it is always scenes from my old life. Never facts about her, never stories about her, just scenes from our day to day life. I guess some people would argue that was the most important thing. But that is what is so strange to me: I knew extremely little about my mother before she was, well, my mother. She never talked about her childhood, going to Hogwarts, what happened after she had graduated. She didn't even have any pictures. Or at least none I had found, anyway.

Words cut across my reverie, bringing me happily back to reality.

"Has Mr. Wells gone to lunch?"

It is Professor Snape, as flamboyant as ever.

"Yes, sir."

"Did he make it through your Arithmancy before leaving?"

"Yes, sir."

There was silence after my affirmative. Apparently Snape's axiom is: If you don't have something unpleasant to say about a person, say nothing at all.

"How are your eyes feeling?"

"Dry and aching just like they're supposed to, so Silas says."

"Very well then. I hope you are ready for an afternoon of studying. Although we have yet to find a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for you, I have proposed to the Headmaster—and he has agreed—that you go over some of the basics and review the basis for Defense. You will, of course, once your sight improves and a teacher is available, have practical training as well. I have put aside some of my valuable time today so that I can begin instructing you today while you sit and listen," he slightly emphasizes the last word. "There are certain things you can memorize even now and apply to your later lessons. I wish your mother—" he begins, but cuts of shortly. There is an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, and when Professor Snape begins to talk again, it is on the subject of Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Although I am not looking forward to another stretch of hours of trying to learn something while sitting flat on my back with nothing to occupy my hands, I have to appreciate the fact that Professor Snape seems to have discovered the best method in which I learn things. I learn best when all the basic background information is set down before me, a study foundation from which I can build my knowledge. It leaves me with a much clearer picture of what I am doing and also allows me to make connections on my own, which I remember better in the end.

Silas returns an hour later and eventually convinces Snape to give me a short break from the information overload and let me rest for a quarter of an hour. Silas amuses me with stories he heard at lunch and Snape disappears for the allotted amount of time to do who knows what. When Snape returns precisely on time we hit the books again and he shoots review questions at me like I'm before a firing squad. I remember a good deal and earn a, "Not completely incompetent" from Professor Snape, which must mean he was fairly pleased with my performance.

Finally, Professor Snape shuts the book he is holding with a muffled thud and announces, "I think we can take off the blindfold now. The potion should have finished its work."

I sit up quickly, delighted, only to become dizzy from the rush of blood to the head. I sway a little and put my hand down on the bed to steady myself.

"Does this mean I can go eat dinner?" I demand excitedly.

"Miss Philips, you always raise my hopes of your intelligence, only to dash them to the ground three seconds later."

I smile, "Brains must be fed with nutrients, not just knowledge."

"Yes you can go eat dinner. I'll come with you. We can call it a date," Silas says, unwrapping the bandage from my eyes.

"Right, Silas. Right."

"It is unprofessional to have a relationship with a patient," Professor Snape says coldly.

"Yes, sir. Well, does there seem to be any difference?" Silas asks, finishing taking off the bandage.

I look around.

Nothing.

The same blackness all around.

I squint to see if it the darkness is a slightly paler shade of black.

It isn't.

When I don't say anything, merely slump my shoulders, Snape speaks.

"There is generally no improvement in the first several treatments. Your eyes have an exceptional amount of damage that needs to be fixed. We will do this again next Saturday. And I do not expect to have to fetch you again." He stands up in a rustle of robes. "Good evening."

"Good evening," I say, feeling deflated from my earlier jubilation at the idea of food.

"Goodbye, Professor."

We are silent for a moment following the click of the door.

"Come on then, Maddy," says Silas, also sounding a little dispirited.

He takes my hand and I slide off the bed, putting my hand on his arm.

"Leaving with Miss Philips, Mr. Wells?" asks Madam Pomfrey suddenly from behind. "Any improvement, Miss Philips?"

I turn towards her voice and shake my head, "No ma'am."

"Ah well, these things take time. And Silas, next time I expect you to tell me how your apprenticeship is going and when it will be up."

"Certainly, Madam Pomfrey."

We are free to leave at last, and remain silent all the way down to the Great Hall.


End file.
